Dance of the Red Death
by Strange and Intoxicating -rsa
Summary: Viktor Nikiforov loved too much. What begins as a cough morphs into something that takes the shape of an unseen monster hiding in his very blood. It starts as a way to survive, but quickly becomes something he never expected when Yuri Katsuki teaches him that surviving is not living. This is a 21st Century love overcoming the obstacles of the 20th Century's politics of fear.
1. Chapter 1

Dance of the Red Death

By: Strange and Intoxicating -rsa-

Pairings: Viktor/Yuri; mentions of Viktor/OCs

NOTES: AIDS was considered the leading cause of death for figure skaters in the beginning of the epidemic from 1981-1994, before ARVs (anti-retrovirals) and the ART (anti-retroviral therapy) became available. It was one of the first sports that implemented AIDS education to its participants. Unfortunately, it did not reach many skaters in the beginning years. Many talented young men wasted away due to their illnesses. (And yes, there are sources, all of which you can find on the AO3 version of this story. I source everything.)

Fortunately, we now live in a world where more opportunities are available, along with treatments. This story is based in 2016, with current treatment of people living with HIV/AIDS in some parts of society that is still as backward as it was in 1981.

A full list of resources will be available in the endnotes on my AO3. It will be included in each chapter and will no doubt continue to grow as the story continues.

If you are under the age of 18, please follow the guidelines and do not read explicitly marked material.

* * *

 _Drip. Drip. Drip._

It was snowing that day; Viktor could remember the sound of the flakes splashing against the glass, ever the reminder of the passage of time. He listened to it like one would listen to a metronome. He wanted the sound to sync with his heart or his breaths, but it was difficult to make his heart stop trying to jump into his throat or for his breath to calm.

Family.

Fidelity.

Faith.

Those words... the doctor continued to repeated them on a loop, so many times that the words lost their meaning. It was difficult to understand their meaning after the fortieth time they were repeated, and so Viktor found himself simply nodding along to words he could not comprehend.

 _Family._

His family was gone, his mother having died when he was he was a child, his father followed not long after. Viktor assumed it was the heartbreak; never had he seen two people so in love.

He could remember the mornings in St. Petersburg, windows thrown open and a soft humming that seemed to carry through their small home. She would make _blinis_ or _syrniki_ on Saturday, when they were able to splurge just a little with some sweet fruit that would paint his fingers in shades of pink and blue. His mama would laugh and smile and touch his nose with a flour-covered finger and remind him to wash his hands.

Sometimes she would lean down and let their noses touch. Viktor remembered the kiss of her lashes against his cheek and the warm breath of sugar and jam. Then his papa would pick him up and twirl him in his big, strong arms, and mama would laugh until he did the same with her. He could remember the warmth of their hands and their skin and the sound of their heartbeats.

Viktor also remembered her cold hand and how still her chest was as he and his father washed her body and laid her in a white gown they made with cheap linen from the local shop. He bled across the white when the pin slipped, and watched as each drip mixed with his father's tears. His small hands could not hold the needle, slick with red.

 _Drip. Drip. Drip._

His papa never recovered, and Viktor hadn't, either. He hadn't even lasted the forty days of mourning, and Viktor remembered scrubbing his father's body clean until his fingers bled.

His coach, Yakov, was the closest thing to family, now... and Yakov would never accept this. He was an abomination, a shame upon the man.

 _Fidelity._

Viktor could have snorted. He loved the human form, the feeling of a lover pressed against him. The flush of skin as they pulled him taunt. The way a body would become slick with sweat and fluid. The way fingers would prod his insides and stretch him open. The feeling of a woman's breast against his cheek as he pushed inside. The harsh staccato of skin hitting skin. The heat that would build as Viktor came inside them, or they inside him.

 _Faith._

God was dead.

It was only a cough.

Viktor looked at the doctor who was impatiently tapping his pen against the clipboard and stared at the pen moving up and down. Up and down, bouncing in a way that should have been erotic. It once was a move Viktor had loved so dearly, riding a man until he came across their chests, loving the feeling of the pulses between his legs and the feeling of fluid filling him. It was warm and sweet and a filling of a void.

Viktor held back the urge to vomit.

"Are you a drug addict?"

Viktor shook his head. No, he never did more than drink liquor on his off time. Even then, he tried to avoid the smoke that seemed to cascade out of any bar. It was bad for his lungs and he wanted to be in perfect health for the competitions.

He wanted his swan song to be the PyeongChang 2018 Olympics, and then... then who knew.

"Are you a homosexual?"

Viktor shook his head. He knew better, by now. Admittance meant death.

"Then you were infected by a girlfriend."

Viktor looked at the doctor. "I guess."

If Viktor could have curled in upon himself and hidden, he would have.

"You guess?"

Viktor watched the pen stop its movement of up and down as the doctor wrote something down on his clipboard.

"I... I have had many lovers in many countries. Many women... I don't know all their names." Viktor looked down at his hands, watching his fingers contort into unknown shapes. It hurt when he bent his fingers back, far enough for the knuckle to crack, but it was a jolt that reminded him to look up at the doctor.

The doctor's stone face stared back. "You have HIV, which seems to have progressed into a case of AIDS. We have yet to check your T-Cell count, but you are presenting with symptoms of Pneumocystis Pneumonia which is an indicator. We will begin testing immediately to see how far along your disease is. I am Doctor Kamkin, and I will be your doctor until you die."

Not stone, no.

Ice.

It was like ice.

Not the cold comfort if the ice below his skates, the chill that the arena left in his bones when he finished his practice, when he had another ice medal pressed against his breast bone.

This was the ice of his mother's hand.

"You will no longer be indulging yourself in sex. If you infect another person, you will go to jail. Do you understand Article 122?"

Jail? Viktor sucked in a breath through his teeth and had to pull his hand in, raking his fingers shakily through his hair. "No," he whispered, his voice worse than his hands.

The doctor tapped his pen on the clipboard twice before pursing his lips. "Article 122 of Russian Federation's criminal code states that you are held liable for any transmission or exposure of HIV to another individual. You will need to sign this," the doctor pulled out a piece of paper and held it in front of Viktor, his fingertips at the furthest corner it could touch. "This is an affirmative declaration stating your understanding of your disease and the legal ramifications should you expose or transmit your disease to another."

Viktor didn't want to take the paper, didn't want to put his fingerprints to reality, to admit that his very blood, his body, his own passion was his downfall. He could hear his heartbeat and he wanted to rip it from his chest and hold it out to the good doctor. Would this sacrifice be enough to return to him to before? Could he have the last hour replaced with white static?

Could he go back to the moment before he walked into the doctor's office?

It was only a cough.

"Mr. Nikiforov, failure to follow these rules will land you a term of up to eight years in jail. Your physician contacted me as I have more experience with your disease than most within Russia-"

"I won't sign it." Viktor stood shakily and looked around the small office. He turned and turned, feeling the panic clawing at his throat. Where had he put his coat? Where was it?

The doctor did not stand, only put the paper on the small table next to him. "Mr. Nikiforov, that is not up for discussion. I have an obligation to the State, and you have admitted to sexual deviancy with a magnitude of women. You must attempt to establish contact with any partner you exposed in Russia, they must be tested immediately-"

But the blood, the sickening blood was in his head and Viktor could hear it like the drum of war, and he needed... he needed...

He needed air.

"Just-just stop." Viktor held up his hand, the hand full of little crescents dug into flesh where he had gripped himself tightly to stop the screams. "I need some air. Just... just give me that much."

The doctor nodded his head to the window. "Open it, then." He impassively glanced at the door. "I cannot legally allow you out of my office without a full diagnosis and declaration. Take your time."

Viktor reached for the window and spun open the latch so hard it hit the metal and dented it. He threw the window up and shoved his head outside, taking in deep gulping breaths as he felt the vomit burning up his throat. He was thankful the office was on the first floor and the snow had decided to grace itself with a near-end of season fall. It would cover his shame in no time.

He allowed himself to empty the contents of his stomach against the pure white snow, feeling like a monster was fighting its way up from his stomach. It wanted control, and Viktor wanted to give it away. He wanted to forget, to let the snow whipping against his cheeks to take him away.

He stood there, propped against the window until he was sure his tears had frozen and he could no longer stare down at the bile below him. Hands shaking, face slack, breath caught between his lungs, Viktor was done. He was done.

This was it.

This was how it ended.

He went numb.

The doctor continued on, handing him prescription after prescription, with words for drugs he couldn't pronounce. Something for his pneumonia. Several somethings for the taint in his blood, the monster hiding in every cell. Something for the symptoms caused by the others. Something for the diarrhea that hadn't ended in weeks, but he considered to be nothing but a case of extended food poisoning. Something even for the shaking, though Viktor couldn't be sure if it was a true symptom or not.

Nothing was prescribed for his shame.

Nor for his fear.

Viktor stared down at the little pieces of paper in its haphazard pile next to him, and the affidavit. Its ink was not a perfect black, but worn with time and edges. How many had the good doctor received from the Russian government? And how many had he handed out like the death sentence it was?

"Doctor Kamkin... how long?"

"Do you live?"

Viktor shook his head. "How long have I been sick?"

"Your last test was well over two years ago. You participated in the Sochi Olympics?"

Flashes of bodies, like a vision of heaven and hell and limbo. So many had been interested, and so many had been interesting. After his performance, all Viktor could remember was flesh and the smell of fresh snow and alcohol.

"Yes."

The doctor sighed. "Then you are not the first, nor the last."

Viktor could not understand the words, and he shook his head as if to clear the fuzz from between his ears. "What do you mean?"

The doctor slapped his hand against the document. "The Sochi Olympics brought more than gold, silver, and bronze. It brought more death to this country." He looked like he wanted to say more, but the good doctor held back.

"Sign the paper. Go home. Figure out your plans for the future."

Viktor looked again at the paper, at his punishment, and he wiped his hands on his pants until it burned. "How long?"

"We'll see how the medicine works."

"Can I skate?"

The doctor did not answer him for a moment, and Viktor rubbed his hand harder against his pants.

"We'll see how the medicine works."

So, with a flourish, Viktor signed his fate.

After, as he sat in his empty home with only Makkachin to keep him company, fighting against the never-ending shakes, Viktor allowed himself to weep. He wept for his mother, he wept for his father, he wept for his lovers, and deep down, he wept for the little boy with flour on his nose, wishing for butterfly kisses of eyelashes instead of the cold kiss of death.

* * *

He moved through the first days like the living dead. At first, the very idea of putting his skates on made the blood rush to his head and he couldn't handle so much as looking them. It could have been the medicine, it could have been the disease, it could have been his own failure.

He did not want to dwell on who had infected him-there were too many people, too many opportunities. When was he infected? How many bodies would he leave broken and tainted behind him?

How many people had he condemned to death?

Viktor tried to ignore the screaming in his head. It was too late, he was too late.

If Sochi were the beginning of this nightmare, as the doctor assumed, then Viktor could think of... wet mouths and hungry cocks and exploring hands reaching out and grabbing him, pulling him into the darkness. He couldn't even touch himself without feeling repulsed, like his skin was already dissected and diseased, falling from his muscle and bones. Just at the Olympics itself there were dozens, parties that went on forever fueled with music and the heady scent of sex that lingered across the village.

In his mind he could see the bowls and bowls of condoms left unused, bottles of tequila rushing through their veins.

How many?

 _How many?_

Yakov showed up at his apartment some time between day ten and day fifteen, though he could not be sure of exactly when. The doctor told him the pneumonia should have kept him in the hospital, but the very last thing he wanted was the press to find out and to start digging. So, Viktor holed up on his own, drinking the dregs of soup from the bottom of the can, wishing for his mother to wake him with Solyanka and a kiss to the forehead instead of the maid who stopped by twice a day to bring him more soup and to walk Makkachin.

His coach stood at his front door, hitting his fist against the wood until the skater crawled across the floor and to the door, fumbling with the locks. Poor Makkachin rubbed his nose against Viktor's face, and that was enough to get him to at least wobble to his feet.

"You ungrateful little shit! Open this fucking door or I will break it down!"

Viktor rubbed at his face when cold nose rested just before and hit his hand against the doorknob enough to let it crack open. Yakov was able to do the rest, hitting the door with enough force to smash the handle right into Viktor's extended hand.

He knew it was bleeding before he saw the red droplets and his coach standing in front of him with fury written across his face like a mask.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Red death.

Viktor let his hand drop to his side, ignoring the stinging pain from where the metal slashed through his skin. He could not look down, he could not look at the red against the white of his throw carpet.

"I'm sick. Please go."

Yakov saw something, and Viktor wondered if he looked as dead as he felt. The anger drained from his face, and it was the same man who took his hand as a small child, bleeding from scrubbing off his skin after wrapping his dead father in linen... he was all by himself.

He was always by himself.

"Viktor. How sick? Is it... is it cancer?" Yakov was dressed in his suit, ridiculous hat and blue scarf pulled tight against his throat, and Viktor could almost pretend like the last ten days or fifteen days, or however long he hid inside his apartment with the lights off and the curtains drawn, never happened. He could just let out a lazy smile and tell his coach the same thing he repeated like a mantra as he lay curled up on the floor in his bathroom coughing blood-tinged green phlegm from his lungs.

It was only a cough.

Viktor looked at Yakov's nose, the way it reminded him of a bird. It was one of his jokes as a small boy, and Yakov never once commented against it, even though he was old enough to know better now.

" _Dedushka_..." Viktor felt the vestiges of tears prickling at the back of his eyes and he wanted to wipe his face, but doing so would show his open, bloody hand to Yakov. Instead, he turned from the door and trekked across the apartment and toward the kitchen, hitting the light with the palm of his other hand.

He looked at the dozen pill bottles lined up across the counter and thought of knocking them over. Yet, he knew that he could only hide this for so long. Yakov was the only thing of his family, he couldn't hide it from him.

"It isn't cancer. You can kill cancer." Viktor palmed the faucet and set the water on its hottest setting, resting his hand under the stream. He wanted to hiss as the steaming water scalded his bleeding gash, but he bit it back.

Yakov followed him into the kitchen, and he saw from the corner of his eye how Makkachin climbed back onto the blue couch where they stayed, unmoving, for the last two weeks. He was still a young thing, only three years old. What would happen to Makkachin when he died?

"Make sure that Yuri gets him."

"What are you talking about, Viktor?"

Viktor turned to look at his coach through the steam. He could see the man struggling to read the labels on the pill bottles. He still could not quite decipher the names in their entirety, instead going by the color coding. Each pill had their purpose, and each pill made it more like a slow form of suicide.

 _Efavirenz. Tenofovir. Disoproxil Fumarate. Emtricitabine._

"I need you to make sure that Yuri takes care of Makkachin. He doesn't like flying, but if you give him the blue toy he can handle it fine. He prefers soft food to dry food, and will only take a bath if you get in with him. Do you think Yuri will be able to do that? Sure, Yuri can be wild and unpredictable, but he is young and he won't make the same mistakes I have."

Yes, Yuri would never make the same mistakes. Watching his idol rot would be enough to scare the boy into never making the same decisions.

"I thought I was immortal. I'm not."

Viktor leaned up and turned the hot water off and stared down at his hand, red from the heat.

"Viktor, what is it?"

He wanted to laugh, but his body wracked with coughs. "It's just a cough... It's only a cough."

"Bullshit, Viktor. You've been up here hiding for two whole weeks. You're talking of death, you're even talking about giving away Makkachin. There isn't a thing on this planet you love more than that dog and skating. You haven't been to the rink in fourteen days and you have the ISU Championships in Tokyo in a month. So? What is it?" Viktor turned to look at the older man who was staring at a pill bottle in his raised hand. "You don't get to lie to me. Not about this."

"Yakov... I can't. This isn't something we can fix. This is something I cannot undo."

Viktor grabbed the towel on the kitchen counter and wrapped it around his hand, though he imagined the wound would clot on its own soon enough. He looked around the kitchen briefly before seeing the bottle of bleach, and with quick sprays covered the entirety of his sink, taking care to thoroughly drown the catch.

He pushed past Yakov and back into the living room. Getting onto his knees, Viktor sat himself on his heels in front of the door, spraying the metal with bleach. With precise motions he used the cloth wrapped around his hand to wipe away any possible trace of blood he could have left on the handle, spraying again and again until the bleach bled down and began to burn at his skin.

"Viktor, I have taken care of you for twenty years. You are like my own son. Just tell me what it-"

"I have AIDS."

Viktor continued to scrub at the droplets of blood that littered the floor.

 _Drip. Drip. Drip._

His breath was caught in his lungs, and this was not Viktor Nikiforov, this was a pale imitation, a piss poor, cheap sham.

"Did that answer your question, Yakov? Was that what you wanted to hear?" Viktor felt his voice raising until Makkachin was whining and pawing at the wood floor. "Did I fail you here, too?"

Viktor closed his eyes and waited for the Yakov to smack him against the back of his head, to scream, to throw something at him, to call him a useless fuck like he had a thousand times before.

Silence.

The silence was worse.

"I do not want to be in white. Don't let them put me in white."

" _Vitya_..." Viktor felt the hand against his shoulder, and he fell backwards, toppling over and against Yakov.

This happened before, too. The priest anointing his father's head in oil, the cloth Viktor buried his nose into smelling of decaying meat, the incense cloying. Yakov pulled him back then, too.

He felt the arms wrap around him and Viktor wanted to fight it, because he was stronger than this. He needed to get his affairs in order. He needed to pull himself up off the ground. He needed his skates.

" _Vitya, Vitya_ ," the old man croaked and Viktor laid his head against his coach's shoulder. "You did not fail me. You have never failed me. It is I who failed you."

Viktor let himself lay there, not knowing the passage of time. His face was warm but his tear ducts had given up days ago, so he could only sit with his cough and hyperventilate and feel the twinge of a tear or two escape from the corners of his lids.

He listened to Yakov's heartbeat, so strong for a man of seventy.

Viktor would never live to see seventy.

He would be lucky if he made it to thirty.

By the time he was able to get to his feet, the bleach-covered towel wrapped around his hand was dry, and the skin below was irritated and leaking. Viktor tried to wrap the cut with the towel again, but Yakov smacked his good hand away.

"Stupid boy," he grunted as he stretched out his shoulders and took off his hat, throwing it on the couch. "Sit, sit. I'll go get the bandages from the bathroom."

Viktor tried to protest, but the man growled. "I said sit your ass down on the couch. Making me repeat myself, you pain in the ass. Go, now."

So, he did as he was told. He waged war against Yakov a thousand times as a little boy, had caused so much trouble and heartache; the least he could do was obey now that it was too late.

Makkachin jumped into the couch next to him and yipped. Poor Makkachin, with such an irresponsible human. Viktor reached out with his good hand and ran it through the soft fur.

The light above flickered on and Viktor blinked twice, then three times to regain his sight. There was a little black shadow in his left eye for a moment, like a gnat. Yet as soon as Viktor noticed it, it was gone. He could see Yakov and an army of bandages, creams, and bottles marching towards him with grim determination, mouth drawn in a straight line.

"We're going to America," Yakov commented as he pushed a pillow off the footrest and squatted down next to Viktor. He piled the toiletries in the edge of the couch and put out his hand, the same way he had when Viktor was a little boy.

"But, there's blood."

Yakov shook his hand harder. " _Vitya_ , I am a seventy year old man. I lived through the Soviet-Afghan War. I watched bombs rip off limbs and heads. I helped box up what was left to send back to the Motherland." Viktor felt his stomach churn. "Your blood brings me no fear."

Viktor nodded and placed his hand in the gnarled palm in front of him. Yakov's hands stood as testament of a hard life lived; the bones were protruding under a sliver of skin and blue veins. The longer he stared the more it reminded him of a tree, long lived and forever prospering, sending out its roots, allowing the birds to carry away its seeds and fruit to spread further and wider.

"Your mama and papa would be proud of you."

Viktor wanted to comment, but it was rare that Yakov spoke so candidly of his parents. In fact, Viktor could only remember one conversation, on a spring day where the flowers blossomed too early and died off before they had a chance to show their full glory. He could barely remember the words, but he remembered the flowers.

"They were my best, before you. Your mama wanted you more than she wanted skating, and your papa wanted nothing but her. She was the reason he wanted to skate in the first place. Foolish Vladimir. Always chasing Katya like a lovesick schoolboy." Yakov's voice was soft like the fresh snow. "But your papa was like you. He had too much love, loved too many people... loved too many men."

Viktor tried to pull his hand away, but Yakov tightened his grip around his wrist.

"Vitya, no. I know, I have always known. I knew for certain since you were fifteen and found you after your Junior Championship with your head between Dmitri Sokolov's legs."

When Viktor stopped pulling his hand away, Yakov relaxed and continued to gently wipe at the irritated flesh. "Thought you hid it from me? I've been wiping the snot from your nose since you were still in diapers." But his words were not laced with vitriol, and Viktor closed his eyes to block the light.

"Tell me more."

"About your mama and your papa, _vnuk_?" Yakov stopped for a moment, but now he could feel a soft bandage making its way around his hand, clasping it in tightness and warmth. "Not much to say. The miracle drugs only came later after they were gone. You were cleared and the doctor tested you every time we went. You were lucky, he said. Your father must have gotten sick after you were born."

Yakov pat his hand when he was done wrapping it, and Viktor blinked his eyes open.

"I didn't tell you, I didn't want you to worry. I thought you would be careful... I should have told you. " Yakov took a breath in from his nose and exhaled from his mouth. "Now, get your things. We're going to America."

It was the second time the man said it, but it still did not make sense. "But you hate America?" he questioned as his coached pulled out his cell phone and began to furiously dial in a number. "You call them a bunch of-"

Yakov's hand smacked against his head and Viktor yelped, though he was careful not to hit the older man with his newly bandaged hand.

"Their doctors are better and I trust them with this more. The Motherland is... you know how they can be. We fly tonight, I'll get tickets now. Your English is better than mine, but I have someone who owes me favors. You'll do the talking."

" _Dedushka_... thank you."

Yakov nodded his head stiffly. "You haven't called me that since you were a boy."

Viktor held his hand to his chest and pat Makkachin one last time. "I should say it more often."

His coach snorted. "Don't. It makes me feel old."

Viktor smiled, for the first time in weeks, and it felt like a little sliver of himself returned.

* * *

The first time he put on his skates was in New York. Viktor sat on the bench near the rink, staring at the dozens of people going round and round in circles, in a never-ending loop. His skates were shitty rentals, something he couldn't remember having ever done in the entirety of his life. If Yakov knew, he was sure that his coach would have keeled over, dead. He could imagine that Yakov would scream about foot fungus or busted laces that would lead to broken ankles.

But he needed this, he needed to skate.

 _The doctors in New York were different. It wasn't the ice of a Russian winter, it was the soft curl of the beginning of spring._

 _She was kind._

 _Doctor Marks worried more for the pneumonia, assigning another course of antibiotics. The phlegm was a good sign, she said as she handed him a box of tissues. "It means that your body is beginning to break it up. You should be able to breathe regularly in another week or so... Viktor, it means you can fight this."_

 _She was an optimist._

Viktor pulled his ankle to rest on his knee and ran his fingernail against the skate, smiling slightly at every bump and chip. They weren't great, but they would do.

He would survive with them, for now.

Viktor took care when pulling down his skate, checking the other blade with the same care he would with his John Wilsons. This one was a little more worn, but it was his left foot; he knew he could make sure to put less pressure on that skate.

It wasn't as though he would be doing any jumps or moves. He just needed to glide across the ice, to feel like himself for just a little while.

Viktor received a few glances, but chose not to give it any more attention than necessary. If anyone caught some pictures of the famous Viktor Nikiforov in New York in February, it wouldn't matter. He was there on what could be seen, technically, as a courtesy to Yakov's friend who owed him a few favors. The Sky Rink was the most popular indoor rink in New York; a fair number of blossoming skaters used it as their home rink. It wouldn't be unheard of for someone like Viktor to stop by to do a little practice, or to the paranoid eye, try to scout for fresh meat.

Viktor couldn't muster the energy to even pretend like he was paying attention to the others. All he cared about was that he could join in on their infinite loop.

His hand shook as he gripped the side of the rink and pulled himself up. He put his skate to the ice and with muscles he hadn't used in weeks, pushed off.

His first love was the ice. It was his cradle and would be his grave.

 _"You can continue to skate, there is no reason you couldn't, as long as you take your medicines... but I would recommend taking this season off." Doctor Marks looked to Viktor, who stopped translating into Russian at that point. She reached over from her desk and pressed a few pamphlets in front of him and Yakov. "Your pneumonia did some damage to your lungs, and they need time to heal. If you rush, it could permanently lead to irreversible damage... and, unfortunately, transplants on HIV+ patients is still in its infancy. It is better to rest."_

 _Rest._

 _Viktor didn't know the meaning of rest._

 _"Doctor Kamkin said it was advanced..."_

 _Doctor Marks steepled her fingers in front of her, and leaned back against her chair. The office was warmer than the last, with little flashes of color throughout the room, but underneath was the antiseptic smell Viktor knew as distinctively doctor. "Your doctor is correct. It is quite advanced, but with the current drugs on market and a regimen of strict diet and moderate exercise..."_

 _Viktor shook his head. "No. He... there was talk about not knowing how long..." he didn't want to say it out loud, to admit it to the doctor._

 _"Viktor, you have yet to respond to the current cocktail, but you haven't been on the medication for a full month yet. We need to give this time; your body is not only fighting the infection in your lungs, but it is fighting the virus, too. You need to rest, take care of your body, and allow the drugs to do their job. Has your stomach been acting up since arriving?"_

 _Viktor knew better than to lie to his doctor. "I got sick on the plane, but it was a little better." Perhaps it was changing his diet from soup to real food that made his stomach a little stronger. Maybe it was the knowledge that there could be hope, even the slightest of glimmers._

 _"That's good. I do recommend that we do an examination."_

Viktor took in a deep breath of cold, crisp air and felt the rush as he passed by the other skaters. Even on the rental heels, with sloppy posture and broken lungs, he could feel life in his body. The air stung, but it was a sting of familiarity that made his eyes tear up, not the metallic smell of steel meeting ice.

This was his only escape. This was what kept him from falling. His love, his passion-

The same love and passion led him to this route.

And he fell.

His pick must have gotten caught on the ice for his free left leg, because he was tumbling forward and onto the ice, feeling his knees and hands smash into the ice with no protection but the thin gloves and the legs of his pants.

It hurt more than he remembered from when he was a child.

He hadn't wiped out from anything other than a quad in... it... it must have been years.

There was a tightness in his chest, and Viktor coughed into his glove, feeling the slime on his tongue hitting the back of his teeth.

 _"This may be cold. Take in a deep breath, try to relax your muscles. I know this is uncomfortable, but it will be over soon."_

 _The paper dressing rubbed at his thighs as he spread a little wider, feeling cold jelly at his entrance. He involuntarily squeezed his muscles and Doctor Marks stopped._

 _"Does it hurt?"_

 _Viktor nodded before realizing the doctor could not see his face, and managed to exhale out a "Yes."_

 _There was nothing warm or passionate about the doctor's fingers; this was as clinical as the smell of her office and the bite of paper to his legs. Every twitch was only exacerbated by the sounds of crinkling._

 _"I wish there were another way to get this sample, but this is the only way." It was the first time he had ever had a conversation with another person so intimately without the promise of orgasm, and Viktor clenched his jaw as he felt her spread her fingers wide and something else prodded him. "It's a swab; I am going to take a few samples so we don't have to do this again. Take a deep breath, Viktor. It will be over soon."_

Over soon. It wouldn't be over soon.

Or, more terrifyingly, it could...

 _Drip. Drip. Drip._

When the coughing stopped, Viktor reached up and cupped his nose, feeling the warm blood dribbling down into his mouth and across his jaw, leaking into the lip of his sweater. It was like an army of invading ants decided to rush out instead, attacking and biting, hissing and spitting. Oh, god.

It wouldn't stop.

Someone tried to grab his shoulder, but he flung out his bandaged hand to ward them off. He was dangerous. His blood was a biohazard.

He was a ticking time bomb.

"Are you okay?"

"-'m fine," Viktor managed to reply through the mouth of blood. He could see the drops littering the ice and he squabbled back, wanting to push the growing crowd away.

His blood should be black like rot. It would be easy to distinguish the living from the dead, then. His cum could be green like poison.

"Here, let me get you a towel or something." He was handsome, the way Viktor liked them. His hair was russet, feathering his face like a shroud. He had a pensive, worried expression and an open, earnest smile. Green eyes were wide, with a hint of what Viktor remembered from before, when he was still himself. His teeth were like pearls, mouth like Venus flytrap waiting for an unsuspecting victim.

"No."

Viktor watched the easy smile turn to a frown.

"But you're bleeding. Let me go get my coach, we have some ice packs..."

His throat was long. Slender. Beautiful. Graceful. He held himself like he was one with his skates, and even through the blood and the pain, the traitorous part of Viktor wondered what he would look like with his cock down the other man's throat.

"Stop..." Viktor pushed himself up off the ice, keeping his hand over his face. Humiliation boiled his traitorous blood, and this was a mistake. He should never have come.

Oh, irony.

"Take my hand."

The russet-haired man reached out with sinfully long fingers and he could see them, feel them inside of him. He could remember the feeling of fingers pulling back and forth, curling inside of him, bucking to his clamping muscles.

 _Something was squiggling inside of him._

 _"What do you mean, 'Parasites?' Like a bug?"_

 _"It's an infection that is very common for men who have sex with men." Doctor Marks was frank in her explanation, as though it were nothing but a gnat in his eyesight. "You probably received it during sexual intercourse or anilingus. It's very easy to treat, though I will have to tell you that the chance of reinfection is incredibly high if you continue with unsafe sexual behavior."_

 _Viktor clamped his legs shut tight and shuddered as he ran his hand over his stomach._

 _"They aren't visible, Viktor. You can't see it. It's like the stomach flu."_

 _But Viktor could feel something now, running its sluggish pace through his insides. Every last part of his body... he would never escape them._

 _"I'll prescribe Nitazoxanide for the infection; it should also help explain why your lung x-rays were a little different than typical PCP pneumonia patients." She gave him a warm smile, so different than the look of ice Kamkin drowned him in. Yet, when Doctor Marks reached out to touch his shoulder-_

 **Smack.**

"I said no. Let me be." The blood made his words sound distorted and the other man looked offended, but Viktor did not care. He could feel some of his hair mixing with the blood, pulling webs over his cheeks when he ran the back of his glove across his face.

He shakily looked at the growing audience, one or two of the skaters attempting to discretely snap pictures, and he would never hear the end of it. Oh, he could already see the articles writing themselves. He was never one for gossip, and though he tended to veer away from the trashy magazines, Yuri would no doubt throw a fit about it. He drank in the drama like Viktor drank in bodies.

His face flushed and he looked at the droplets of blood littering the ice, and he wanted to yell for the others to stay away from the black ooze, yet even then he knew it would be the end f him. He would lose not just his body, but his life.

They could take away his championships. They could take away his endorsements. They could lock him in prison where he would not be given the drugs that both doctors told him were the differences between life and death.

They could also wrap a noose around his neck and drag him through the streets of Moscow.

The crime of his love came with the penalty of death.

So, Viktor slunk out of the rink and into the locker room. After cleaning the blood, throwing the gloves into the trash after double bagging it like the biohazard it was, he yanked off his skates and stared at them. He pulled his laces right out of the boots, two of the studs on the left coming loose. The blade was completely shot, and he could see now that the steel had cracked straight down.

Worthless.

 _"I'm sorry, that was terribly presumptive of me." The doctor frowned and instead set her hand to her side. "I understand, this is all very difficult to you. But this does not have to be the end. You can still be yourself. Find something to live for, and you'll see."_

Optimism was for fools.

* * *

The ISU World Figure Skating Championships took its toll on Viktor. He survived the tournament through sheer willpower, playing the face of what he knew the others expected of him. He blew kisses to the fans, posed with the other skaters, didn't cringe away when one of the female reporters asked if a one-on-one interview would be possible as she slid her hand against his thigh. He winked and told her his schedule was a little full, all the while he curled back his toes until they went numb.

He smiled for the cameras and then hid in the bathroom, the medication from Doctor Marks and Kamkin leaving him to hide the bruises across his body and his purple nails.

He wasn't getting enough oxygen.

Doctor Marks told him it was a side effect of the drugs and his shitty lungs. Coupled with the coughing he fought against the entire trip, it was no small wonder that when he arrived home to Makkachin's exuberant bark, his legs fell out from under him and he laid there on his floor. How long he spent staring at the little spots where he had bleached the color straight from the wood he didn't know, but Makkachin laid there with him, curled next to him like a security blanket.

He slept for almost two days, only waking to the alarms set for his medication and to piss. He tried eating a stiff granola bar that must have been the relic from the fall of communism, but it was as hard going down as it was coming back up. Viktor was pretty sure his back molar was also chipped now, which was just what he needed.

They asked him about his future plans, and when he watched the the YouTube video over and over again, he could see the exact moment where his mask cracked.

14:27. It was just a second, just a glimpse, but Viktor spent an hour clicking the little slide to that second. He could see it, in the way his face turned to ice.

Some of his fans had, too.

Pictures of his fall ended up on Instagram and tumblr, where the entire community went over every little mark on his face, every breath, every smile in every interview he had done for two years.

Viktor was sure if he followed the breadcrumbs like his fans, he would be able to nail down the exact day he was infected.

He hoped they wouldn't.

There were a lot of wild speculations; some assumed that the pressure was finally getting to him. He hit what most considered his peak and now were waiting for the announcement of his retirement. Any day now, some of the posters said. Get ready, when he announces it we need to hold ourselves together.

A group of his followers were convinced that he had cancer, and Viktor didn't look at the pictures, there. He could see the ghost in his eyes better than the pictures. He had a never-ending portrait in the mirror.

One girl wrote a rather convincing theory with well over a thousand likes stating Viktor was secretly abducted by aliens and that the new Viktor wearing his skin was planning on using ice skating to conquer the world. He almost considered making a tumblr to give it a like of his own.

Some thought it was a lover. Pictures of him with a medley of women showed up, each one underlined with a question: Is he married? Who did he marry? Who should he marry? Is there a baby? Oooooh, they should name it Alexei or Adelina! No, they should name it Vladimir or Katya as a memorial to Viktor's parents!

The pictures and names went on and on...

(A fair number with men were mixed in, but those were all labeled as speculation. The Russian fans jumped on anyone who brought it up; they believed it too, but knew what a sensationalized media meltdown would occur if there was too much attention paid to it.)

The pictures helped Viktor put names to faces. He wasn't a bad man, or so he thought, but he loved love, or at the impression it gave to him in the moments between the dawn. Most lasted a few weeks, some lasting the time between the sun dipping and rising in the sky.

Each time he saw a face he added their name to his anonymous email address and sent the message: Get tested. He could not look them in the eye and tell them their one night of lust would curse them.

There were only two that lasted longer, and Viktor contacted both on his own.

Imani was his dark goddess. Her skin was ebony silk, her hair a torrent of God's fury, her round thighs a sight that Viktor worshipped on his knees for. She was his muse for his second Grand Prix, the music she wrote moving the audience to tears. It had moved him to tears too, and she had licked them away with a tongue that would have cast even the most loyal of angels out of heaven. Imani was a hurricane that ran through his life with blazes of passion and anger and lust, leaving delicious devastation in its wake.

It was the fuel he needed for his Sochi victory.

She met him for coffee in Tokyo, two days before his performance. Her newest catch was a twenty-something pretty boy with a guitar who thought he would rule the world. Viktor wasn't impressed, but he knew it would only last until Imani got bored and found a new toy.

They sat in the small cafe, a table the only thing between them, and he raised the curtain.

He didn't say he was sick, but he knew she knew. It was easier to not say the words, because words were confirmation and admitting it to himself was hard enough.

She knew that, too.

"I got tested about three months ago. It was negative. Oh, Viktor." She put her hand out on the table, and Viktor stared at her soft skin in the March light. His own hand inched up and he rested their knuckles against one another.

It was Sochi, then. The good doctor was right.

Mikael was was after Sochi.

It was April before he managed to make the call and have it go through; Mikael's schedule was always busy with day after day of practice, the never-ending photo-ops and advertisements, and the games. The only reason the call went through was because Viktor made sure to do it on a national holiday where there were no games scheduled for at least a week.

"Please don't hang up on me, Mikael."

Viktor stared at his kitchen counter, rocking back and forth in the seat. He had his medicine bottles lined up again, and now he was able to pronounce each one. It was difficult for him to understand their purpose, but it would take time. Doctor Marks continued to supply him with the drugs he needed to take, but it was far less than what he was originally prescribed. Now, instead of taking twelve pills, he only needed to take eight. That, along with the medicine to clear out the parasites (Viktor shook when he thought about it, and he had to push it away, the way it was crawling inside of him, inside of him, through him...) alleviated the worst of the stomach pain and never-ending runs to the bathroom.

It was an improvement.

He was trying.

" _I told you not to call me, Viktor._ " Mikael's voice was smooth with dulcet undertones, and Viktor wanted to melt into his voice and allow the other man to glue the pieces back together. But the tone was too harsh, too angry. It was like breaking glass and shoving the shards through his feet.

"I know, I know, but please listen to me."

Viktor could see the white linen and his sore hands, and his voice was childish and pleading for papa to wake. He could feel his mother's cold hand around his throat, her eyelashes razors against his soft flesh as he ripped at white, unending white.

"Mikael, please. It'll just take a second-"

" _ **Love, who is that?**_ "

Viktor put his hand over the receiver and allowed the air from the punch to his gut escape. It sounded more like Makkachin's whimper than a sound a human could make. He tried to laugh, but what came out was closer to a sob.

" _It's one of the guys. Wants to talk about practice tomorrow._ "

One of the guys... Viktor couldn't kick a football if he tried.

The woman hummed and Viktor tried to think of what she looked like. He saw the wedding pictures in a spread a few years ago, but he blocked out her face from his memory the best he could. Blonde, round face, small nose... he couldn't remember. He didn't care to try, either.

" _What do you want-_ "

"Can you meet me? I know you have a game in Moscow next week. I need to see you."

A snort, then silence. " _Viktor_ ," Mikael's voice went low, and Viktor could see his carefree smile in his mind's eye. He liked to remember Mikael that way. " _It's over. Lose my number._ "

"Wait- I don't want to get involved in your family, that isn't what this is-"

But the line went dead.

Viktor swore as he smashed his cell phone down on the table, screaming out a string of fury in Russian. He knocked over a glass of water and didn't care as it spilled over the edge and onto him. He let his elbows rest in the puddle, the cold water sending a shock through his skin.

 _Drip. Drip. Drip._

* * *

Makkachin was getting used to sitting with him on the couch, acting as a buffer from the real world. This time it was only three days he shut himself inside, though he made sure to take Makkachin for a short walk every twelve hours on the dot. It was better to focus on someone needing him, that someone was dependent upon him. Makkachin never hung up on him. He didn't cheat on his wife, either. And certainly, Makkachin never promised to stay and abandoned him at the first whisper of tabloid controversy.

It was on the third day his phone blew up with messages, and at first Viktor ignored it. It was probably Yakov, being a pain in the ass again about not showing up to practice again. But then more and more flooded his phone, and he had to wrap his arms tightly around his poodle for strength as he pulled his phone over with one finger against the screen.

Had someone connected the pieces? Who had talked?

How much did they know?

But it wasn't that.

He was color. He was music.

He was _**life**_.

It was "Stay Close to Me," the way it was meant to be. This Japanese boy danced with the passion in his bones, like he and the music were one. It was the same desperation that Viktor designed the piece to have... It was hard to look at someone else perform a piece that was meant for Mikael, but he could not look away.

His technique and jumps were... good. His quads were clean, though later when Viktor watched he could see the tension on his free leg during his flip. Once upon a time, he did the same thing. It was the instep, just a little less pressure...

But the first time, that was not what he watched.

The video didn't do well with wide shots, but on occasion there would be a close-up on the his face, and it looked incredibly familiar to him.

Was he a lover?

Viktor shook his head and stared down at the phone, wracking his mind. He was always better with faces than names... A Japanese boy...

The boy from the 2014-2015 Grand Prix in Barcelona.

The one who ignored him.

Viktor remembered him. It was a shock-he never met a skater who outright refused a photo. He could see the way the man looked at him, eyes hungry for something, though he wasn't sure it it were lust or something else, something more mercurial.

But now, seeing the video of this boy, no-this man bleeding himself onto the rink, Viktor understood.

Viktor stared at the video and hit the replay button in the left corner of the screen, watching the video through. He clicked it again. And again. And again.

 _Find something to live for._

 ** _Find something to live for._**

* * *

 **Please Review!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Author Notes** : First, I want to thank everyone who has left warm and encouraging comments from the last chapter. I really, truly appreciate it. I really hope that this story will not disappoint you, and that you will continue to read through the coming chapters. I also wanted to mention that you may have noticed the chapter number has been brought from 3 to 4- there are a lot of reasons for this, the most important being that I did not want to rush the story. The more I wrote the more the characters dictated their actions. So, instead of cutting things I thought important, I decided to add another chapter. It may happen again, or it may not. I haven't made the decision yet.

Now, about the not so fun stuff...

Unfortunately, not all the comments were so nice. The amount of vitriolic abuse I have taken for writing this story is mind-boggling, in addition to belittling. I have decided to ignore the accusations that I am somehow a homophobe, a pedophile (whaaaaaaat?) and that I took this story as 'a joke.' There is clearly nothing funny about my writing. I would also like to state that the fact that people have threatened to "dig" up my personal information is terrifying and unacceptable. I do take that as a threat.

In addition, yes- I am aware that someone has copy/pasted my story and replaced words and names. It is ridiculous and pathetic, and not worth my attention. It shouldn't be worth yours, either.

As always, comments that devolve into hate will be deleted. I don't have the time and energy to fight stupidity.

Links will be found in the end notes.

Onto other stuff!

I have decided that the anime itself is a great show of the beginnings of their romantic interest in one another, and opted against just rewriting scenes that we already have seen, instead focusing on what I think is more important. There are spoilers throughout all aired episodes.

Hasetsu does not exist in real life, but was heavily influenced by Karatsu, Saga Prefecture.

The doctor's office in this chapter actually exists in real life, though it is not in Fukuoka. Anyone who lives in Tokyo will probably be able to recognize this particular clinic, so I guess it is an Easter Egg of sorts.

More notes as well as annotations and a running Q/A are available on my Tumblr! You can follow me at rsasai

* * *

" _Vitya_! Don't do this! Can't we talk?"

Viktor looked over his shoulder, the snow caressing his cheek like a lover. The nip at his nose made Viktor smile, and it was the closest to alive he felt in months. He could taste the cold in the air, like a promise of sweet dreams when he laid his head on his pillow. He hadn't had a good dream since the doctor drew out black tar from his veins.

"Yakov, you are the best coach I ever had. Nothing will change that."

"If you walk away now, you can never come back." There was something in his words, a feeling of finality. Viktor turned and walked forward through the snow, following his footsteps backward. He dropped his luggage at his side. It was one bag-just enough to tide him over until his boxes arrived in Japan- but it felt like he filled it with bricks. The thud of hitting the snow reminded Viktor of the sound of the dirt he threw down on the caskets of his mother and father.

" _Dasvidaniya_. I'm sorry but this time I can't do as you say." He kissed the man's cheek, feeling his warm, gnarled skin against his chapped lips. He needed the man to know, to understand.

"Why do you do this to an old man?"

Viktor laughed. It was filled with relief, of breathiness and life. "Because this old man understands. I need... I need to find a reason to live. I wake in the morning and I have no reason. The doctors and the medicine... I think she was right, this season is over for me."

Viktor reached up and pulled up the zipper to his jacket. "This year I will find my inspiration."

"But what will I do without you?"

"Take care of Yuri. He isn't going to be happy I am leaving. And make sure that Georgi doesn't lose his mind completely. The tabloids have those pictures of his girlfriend making eyes with other men. You know how he gets."

The groan that Yakov let out warmed up a part of Viktor and he had to fight back his own laugh.

"That bastard will be the end of me. He's been asking for more attention for years. But you are the best skater in the country, Viktor. I know you want to make it to the Olympics, but if you drop this year you may not be able to compete."

But his mind was made up, and Viktor could not allow the man the false hope. "Yakov... we both know it. My career is dead."

"Don't say such foolish things, _Vitya_. You are young and you will get better."

Yet it was still an open, gaping wound that had yet to scab over, and the feeling of guilt ate at his insides. With Mikael refusing to answer any of his calls... Viktor was tempted to just leave a message on his phone, but if anyone else heard they would no doubt sell it to the papers. It was a punch to the gut to know that if he left it, if anything bad happened to Mikael and his wife, it would be on him.

What could he do? What was left?

Viktor pushed away the thoughts of Mikael and his blonde wife. Having spent the past three months as a recluse, hiding from the light, Viktor needed something bigger. He needed a promise, a future.

And that was Yuri Katsuki.

"I _need_ to do this. Please, forgive me."

"Pain in my ass."

Viktor sighed and reached up to adjust his own scarf. He needed to keep his hands busy, to keep himself grounded. "There is another thing I must ask. I need a favor."

Yakov blinked and shot out his hand to cover his face as a particularly powerful gale knocked the snow into his eyes. " _Vitya_ , what do you need?"

Viktor pursed his lips. "Can you start depositing my earnings into my Swiss account?" It was shameful to think that his government was capable of such cruelty, but it already showed that it had little qualms with doing it to others. When Mother Russia wanted blood, she got it.

The idea of being stripped of his entire life and livelihood was... It was possible. "The last thing I need is to be left with nothing to care for myself."

Yakov nodded but acquiesced. "They wouldn't do such a thing to you, _Vitya_. You are a star. The people love you, they would never hear a word against you."  
Yet all Viktor could see was the photo of Mikael and his bride walking down a never-ending aisle, hand in hand. The press loved them, too...

"Yakov, do you remember last year when _7 Days_ and _Girl's Tears_ published those pictures?"

Of course it would be difficult for Yakov to not remember the chaos that rained down over their heads during those few weeks the year before. Two of the hottest girl magazines published a few pictures of Viktor and Mikael Loskov drunkenly walking the streets of Moscow. No one could forget the firestorm that blew through burned down everything in its wake.

Viktor could still remember the feeling of a gentle breeze and warmth in his belly when Mikael grabbed his hand and pressed him against a stone building. They were out of sight, but still the cameras were able to get a few angled shots. If he held his breath, Viktor could almost feel the soccer player's lips against his.

"You told me you got sick and he was helping you."

Viktor broke eye contact with his coach. "I... I'm sorry, _Dedushka_. I knew you would be angry."

"He is married, Viktor. What were you thinking?"

The anger was expected. Yakov always told him to never play with a married woman. He should have taken those words to heart.

"I wasn't thinking… He said he was going to leave her."

Yakov snorted. "Do not trust men who say they will leave their wives, because if they were going to they would have done it. They wouldn't need to say it."

Viktor pulled at his sleeve. "I know... I know, now."

The magazines and blogs exploded. Viktor hoped that it would have been the perfect chance for Mikael to gather himself and just answer with the truth. While homosexuality was considered to be incredibly taboo, being with another man wasn't illegal... not technically.

But Viktor knew it was a pipe dream then, just as he knew it now. Mikael could have lost his job, lost his sponsorships, lost the chance to play for Russia in the future. It was the same thing Viktor feared, the same reason he bit his own tongue and refused commenting to set the record straight when his lover came forward in a magazine, laughing the matter off with a wave of his hand.

 _Oh, that night. Viktor was drunk and vomited everywhere. He can't handle his liquor. I find it offensive you would call me a **petukh** and I am sure Viktor would feel the same. Don't confuse friendship for that nonsense. My wife doesn't find it funny, and neither do I. Maybe Viktor does, but he has always had a strange sense of humor._

"Did you tell him about this?"

Viktor shook his head. "He won't answer my calls. There is nothing I can do but continue calling, even if he won't pick up the phone." Nothing short of Viktor showing up at the man's front door would get Mikael's attention, and he wasn't willing to go so far. Getting punched in the face again would hardly be something unexpected.

"I... I don't know what will happen if I..."

 ** _If I got him sick._**

It was hard for Viktor to formulate the words, and he let the sentence linger on the tip of his tongue before he took in another deep breath and closed his mouth. He pulled his top lip with his teeth and shuffled from one foot to the other.

"You have done your best, _Vitya_. What will happen will happen, you cannot control it. It is in God's hands, now."

God's hands.

God's hands shaped him, shaped the disease in his blood, shaped the world to hate and fear.

God's hands were not kind.

God was dead.

But Viktor only nodded to his coach and gave the man one last pat on the arm, drawing comfort from the scowl on the older man's face. "I hope you are right, and I hope he is kind."

Viktor had hope, despite the bleakness of the Russian landscape. He always liked Japan-the warm breeze, the sweet smell of trees that tucked away hidden treasures. Yuri Katsuki brought him a rush and thrill of something that was long ago missing, like the sun in the Russian tundra.

So, he picked up his things and continued his way forward.

He could hear Yakov cursing, but it held none of the vitriol he expected.

Yakov was always full of surprises.

* * *

Yuri Katsuki was a gentle soul, but hiding inside him was a burning _fire_.

Viktor could see it in the way the man moved with unsure and awkward steps, his hands uncomfortably picking at his clothes and his nails, how he would stumble over his words, despite being well-versed in English. His English was probably better than Viktor's, having lived in America for so long, but still he would occasionally use the wrong word or forget what he wanted to say entirely.

It was only as to be expected, Viktor decided. He felt almost as tongue tied as Yuri was.

But that fire was there.

Viktor noticed it immediately. It wasn't in the way his lips trembled before he noticed, but the determination that pulled them taut against his teeth when he did. His nose flared when Viktor questioned whether or not he could handle the pressure, even when his fingers picked at his cuticles until he saw the pink, fresh skin laid bare to the world.

It was open, vulnerable, _wild_.

Under his cute fluff and fear was something, someone, Viktor wanted to meet.

It took time to crack open the shell, and when it all came forth, Viktor realized he was already in over his head.

There was something that washed over him the moment the man looked up at him through dark lashes and deep brown eyes in the onsen. It spoke to him in a way that nothing had before, and Viktor knew that Yuri was his salvation and his damnation and everything in between. He couldn't form words, collect his thoughts, rationalize his decisions.

It was at Onsen on Ice when Viktor knew he was teetering on the balance, knew that one wrong step would send him over the edge. The whirlwind performance with the only purpose being to make Viktor proud, he had realized there was no hiding from it, not from himself at least. He knew how to hide from others, but admitting it to himself made his stomach churn and all he wanted was to rest his head upon the ice and allow it to sap out the fire from his body.

Instead he allowed Yuri to wrap his arms around him, and he could only accept it.

When Yuri, sweet and shy Yuri put his hand to his hair-that was the moment Viktor knew Yuri felt the same. Such a small touch, but to Yuri it may as well have been moving a mountain. It was the first time Yuri had dared to reach out and touch him of his own accord without thought or the desperation that has been their hug before Onsen on Ice. Yuri had been too afraid that Viktor would disappear.

Viktor feared it, too.

Fidelity.

Fires burned hot and fast, then sizzled out at the chance of rain.

No one stayed for long.

 _Drip. Drip. Drip._

Viktor rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand and yawned, moving his shoulders to get rid of the kink that worked its way into his muscles. No doubt a good massage would have helped, but there wouldn't be any time that day. It felt like the rain pounding against his window would break the panes of glass, but they held firm.

Saga Prefecture was a beautiful place, but the language barrier was something that made him want to pull out his hair. He hadn't thought of it, Viktor admitted to himself. He figured that Yuri would live somewhere close to Tokyo, and only after arriving at Haneda Airport did he realize the mistake. Oh, and what a mistake it was. It meant once a month Viktor had to make up an excuse to find his way to Fukuoka, the largest city in Kyushu, to see more doctors and to have his blood drawn.

Each time left Viktor exhausted; it was three hour round trip for an hour of time spent in the clinic. It was a nice place; there was a small area of rainbow puzzle mats in the corner where children laughed and played as their parents sat on nearby brown chairs. There was almost always a young foreigner there when Viktor made his visits, usually hiding in the corner while playing nervously with their phone. It made Viktor sweat when he saw them across the waiting room, and it became a custom to wear one of Yuri's hoodies to the office to help hide his face.

"This is one of the only places in Fukuoka with English-speaking staff," the doctor explained as he snapped a tourniquet around his arm. "The university is only a few blocks away. Don't mind them, and they won't mind you."

It was only a bit of a comfort to take away the sting as the needle slid , Yuri's thin jacket brought him comfort on those days, usually rolled up in his lap, a reminder of what was at home at the end of the day.

During his doctor visit days, Viktor told Yuri to spend his time off the ice, to use the time to help his family or spend it with his friends. The man would shuffle his shoulders when Viktor asked how his day went, so it wasn't hard for him to guess that Yuri spent most of the day staring longingly at Ice Castle Hasetsu, wishing for his skates to meld with the ice when Viktor returned.

Yuri once tried to ask where Viktor went on those days, but Viktor quieted the question by slipping his hand under Yuri's cheek, running his thumb against the curve of his jaw. The Japanese man melted under his touch and Viktor only felt a little guilty using his sensuality against his unsuspecting victim.

Today was the same. Viktor smiled as he gently rested his hand against the small of Yuri's back at breakfast, watching at Yuri's cheeks reddened at the touch. Viktor didn't mean to tease, but for some reason the wave of comfort that came from Yuri's skin made the guilt wash away.

Then reality would always reveal itself.

"It's raining pretty hard today." Yuri adjusted his legs under him and Viktor watched as the man's shirt rode up, leaving a peak of the soft flesh of his stomach. There were stretch marks against the skin reminding Viktor of nails biting into his back, and he looked away. Yuri, sweet Yuri who never experienced the action of a lover scratching passion into his skin... he had no idea how alluring he was.

Yuri was healthy. Yuri was whole.

"We should go to the Ice Castle, I have an idea for my skate at the Nationals next week. I want to see if I can get the quad Salchow..." But then Yuri frowned when Viktor pulled back his hand.

"Sorry, Yuri. I have to go into the city."

Viktor could see the disappointment in Yuri's eyes and he could not tell quite what had upset him more-the loss of the warmth of his hand or the loss of his wisdom in skating for the day.

"Can I go with you?"

Viktor swallowed and put his hands on the table, staring determinedly at the rice bowl set in  
front of him. He knew this question would come one day, and the thought of denying Yuri something as simple as traveling with him into Fukuoka made a part of him hurt. Yuri wouldn't be angry, but he would no doubt be disappointed... and more than disappointment, there would be wonder. Why not? What was in Fukuoka that Viktor wanted to hide from the world?

"I... I don't think that is a good idea, Yuri." He tried to smile, but all he could see out of the corner of his eye was Yuri's frown.

Yuri reached down and pulled at his shirt, hiding the sliver of skin from Viktor's sight.

It was for the best.

"It'll only be a few hours. Spend the time with your friend Yuko and the girls. I'm sure they'd appreciate the time with you, ya?"

"I guess. I just... I thought you would want to spend some time together."

The words stung. Viktor reached out and rested his hand against Yuri's but was not surprised when his student pulled away. Hurt, yes, but not surprised.

Viktor smiled sadly as he got to his feet and reached out to ruffle Yuri's hair, feeling the thick strands brush against his fingers the way a painter stroked his brushes against paper. "You're like a Monet," Viktor whispered loud enough for Yuri to hear. "Don't be mad. I'll see you later."

Viktor slid the door open, but turned when he heard Yuri's voice.

"Viktor..."

The way his name rolled off Yuri's tongue hit him somewhere unknown, somewhere he thought died with his diagnosis. It was a little silly to have such a reaction to a word. Perhaps it was the Japanese accent, where his name came out breathy like a lover would whisper in the throes of passion. It was erotic and innocent, a contradiction and a conundrum that made Viktor's heart swell until the realization that his feelings were no doubt mutual.  
This was what love felt like, and in the night all he could do was dream of Yuri- of kissing, of touching, of allowing their bodies to entwine in passion and ecstasy. He could feel the heaviness between his legs as their mouths met with hunger and need, and the way sweet Yuri opened himself up to the other man. He hid nothing.

And Viktor would wake crying, Makkachin curled at his feet as his body shook with sobs and the humiliation of finding cum sticky on his thighs. It was pearly white, a mockery of colors.

The night sweats were mostly gone, but on those nights they always reared their ugly head, soaking the bed down to the futon below. Rather than admit to Yuri's mother the issue, instead he bought a plastic sheet and changed his own bed things, hiding the wet fabric in the washing machine before she had the chance to do it herself.

She would always pat him on the cheek and call him " _Sweetie boy_ ," one of the few words she could speak in English. It made Viktor smile and push down the truth that wanted to tumble out. But he never did; her sweet smile as she handed him new sheets reminding him of Sunday mornings long gone.

"Yuri, don't worry about it. Enjoy your day off and I'll meet you for dinner. You can tell me about your plans then."

Yuri gave a stiff nod and returned to picking at his rice bowl.

Viktor tried to hide his feelings as he made his way back up to his room and changed his clothing, making sure to grab the small folding umbrella he picked up from a local shop, putting the strap around his wrist. Before leaving he set in his earphones and zipped up his thin jacket. It was summer and the air was like steam from the hot spring, but no doubt the coming of autumn and the rain would make it colder in the afternoon and into the night.

He slipped on his shoes and headed out toward the station, listening to the soft melodies of potential songs for Yuri's future Long Skate. There were some ideas floating in his head, like little invisible pixies poking and pressing from every side, and it was difficult for Viktor to focus on anything but the disappointing frown on Yuri's face as he left. Every Axel and Lutz made him remember the look of devastation when he would fall to the ice after a bad landing.

Viktor wished there was another way, but he couldn't think of anything but lies. Sweet, happy lies that would make Yuri smile but would only hurt him in the end.

He was getting too close.

The trip went by quickly, the never-ending railway tracks giving Viktor time to think, time to come up with the best response to what was happening between him and Yuri.

Yuri had never been with a man or woman before, having dedicated so much of his life to the sport and to Viktor, a god upon a pedestal only meant to be worshipped from afar. It was hard at first to wrap his mind around; in theory, he understood he had fans. He met thousands upon thousands of them, even helped train a few in their junior years. He knew of the women and men who would throw themselves at his feet like bouquets, having picked up enough of them to have received the consequences as punishment.

But Yuri looked at him in a way that was wholly different to anything that Viktor ever experienced, in a way that made Viktor's lungs feel like they were breathing fire, evaporating away the moisture in the air.

 _He was life._

The rain was still strong as he walked from Hakata station up the winding side roads to the clinic, making sure to adjust his jacket to hide away his trademark silver-white hair. He took out his headphones and pocketed them. No one looked twice at him as he dodged a few people riding their bikes, the sounds of their bells chiming over the sound of the pouring rain.

When he arrived at the clinic he shut his umbrella and placed it on top of the stand, ducking under the walkway to avoid the splash of rain. He managed to get through the doors without any trouble, seeing the fog leave his fingerprints against the glass like a stain.

The clinic was on the third floor, but with the water on the steps he decided not to tempt fate, instead making his way to the elevator. It was a tight fit, barely enough room for two or three people, but it was enough for him.

Viktor thumbed the "3" on the panel and waited for the doors to close. Just as they began to shut something ran toward the elevator and grabbed hold of his wrist.

Yuri stared at him, his hair stuck to his face and shirt clinging to every inch of skin. His face was flushed and his breath came out in audible gasps, probably having run to catch up with him. There was a red stain across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, and Viktor wondered what it would feel like if he rested his lips against the wet skin. Would it be as warm as it looked?

No. No. Yuri was what was good in the world, and Viktor knew that there was nothing he could give the other man but illness and death.

"Yuri? What are you doing here? I told you I would come back late-"

"Viktor."

The sweet rasp of his voice, the feeling of his warm hand against his arm, the way his eyes glowed with something Viktor saw only in his worst nightmares.

The door tried to close again, but when it hit Yuri's outstretched arm it pinged back open and Yuri pulled himself through and pushed himself against Viktor, pressing his lips against the other man's mouth.

Viktor felt his heart gallop into his throat and he fought the urge to throw Yuri off of him, to buck away like Yuri once did to him not so long ago when he had gotten too close.

It was what he should have done, it was what was right, but instead he found his hands reaching up to curl in Yuri's hair, feeling the strong hairs against the palms of his hands. He rested his head against the wall of the elevator and allowed Yuri's tongue to part his lips, giving away control just for a moment, just for that one moment.

He could feel his passion and Eros through the way Yuri pushed his hand against his chest and put the other against the wall near his head, though that hand quickly moved to push down his hood. It wasn't the best kiss Viktor received in his life; there was too much teeth and he could already feel the slick warmth of spit dribbling down his chin, but what Yuri lacked in experience he made up with in sheer unbridled enthusiasm.

It was the most sensual thing he ever experienced.

The elevator rode all the way up to the third floor and the doors opened then closed again before Viktor could pull himself away from Yuri.

"Yu-Yuri," he breathed out, wishing that he could have met the man in front of him sooner, could have promised him the world and all its wonders. He could have promised a lover who was healthy and safe, a set of strong arms to hold him close.

He was none of that now.

" _Vikku_ ," Yuri muttered as he leaned in again, resting his forehead against his. The black-haired man was shaking and he wasn't sure if it was from the water or from the kiss.

Viktor ran his hands from Yuri's hair down to his shoulders, feeling every tremor against his palms. "Yuri, no."

If a heart could have shattered in his hands, it would have. He could feel it in the way Yuri's legs seemed to lose some of their control and how his hands fell to his side. There was wetness of the rain against Yuri's cheeks and Viktor reached up to run his thumbs under his cheeks.

"I can't hurt you, Yuri. You're too special, too important to me. I can't..." Viktor wanted to cry; he hadn't cried while awake in so long, tried to keep his fears to himself. He wanted to hide the pain away in his love for skating, but when he got on the plane from St. Petersburg he hadn't expected Yuri to be the way he was.

At the Grand Prix, Viktor remembered the shock as Yuri turned his back to him, and he assumed that the boy was like the other Yuri-his head a little too high, a little too self-assured. Most of the videos of interviews were in Japanese, those that were in English had his coach do most of the talking. Viktor assumed, ignorantly so, that Yuri didn't want to bother wasting his time with the press, but it wasn't that case at all.

What he met was nothing like what he imagined, and Viktor was thankful for every moment of time he had to share with this Yuri, this shocking man that had already grown so much between the few months they spent together.

"How can you hurt me, Viktor?" Yuri whispered, his voice breaking the silence.

"I... I have to go in there, Yuri... You can wait for me. Can you do that?"

Yuri pulled their foreheads apart and hit his hand against the button to open the doors, allowing Viktor to get by, but at the last moment Viktor grabbed Yuri by the hand and pulled him out of the elevator. He held the hand as though it were the only thing between life and death.

Yuri gripped back just as strongly, and he had to fight the urge to look at Yuri's face. He couldn't break apart, not right there in the middle of the waiting room.

The young half-Japanese woman sitting at the rounded reception desk shot them a surprised look, though if it were at himself or Yuri he couldn't be sure. Her cheeks turned a shade of red as she stumbled out of her chair to bow.

"M-Mr. Nikiforov, g-glad you made it. Papa-I mean Doctor Fujimoto will be with you in a moment. You and your... friend ... can have a seat." She gestured toward the brown block chairs, though Yuri looked around uncomfortably as he dripped water on the floor.

" _Ah... un... eto..._ " Yuri squeezed Viktor's hand. "Towel?" He asked the woman, who nodded and stood away from her chair, running into the back area, emerging with a handful of white towels that she handed over to Yuri.

Yuri let go of his hand to accept the towels, making sure to thank the woman in English, though it was clear they were both unsure of what to say to one another. It was cute, actually, watching the two using a language that was clearly not their native tongue to communicate just for his benefit.

The two headed toward the empty waiting area, Yuri dripping water every which way, making Viktor smile with each drip. They dried themselves quietly, Viktor rubbing the towel against the stain of water Yuri's chest left behind on his jacket. When he had done the best he could, he leaned over and rubbed the towel against Yuri's head.

"You're all wet," he muttered as he stroked the hair, feeling it bristle under his fingers. Yuri's hair was strong like horsehair, something Viktor never experienced before. His own hair was thin and soft, like a woman. It was both the reason he let his hair grow out and the reason he cut it when he left the Junior skating division. Looking too much like a woman brought about attention that was not safe.

His hand brushed across Yuri's skin and he pulled his hand back as quickly as possible, not wanting to bring any more shame to his student. He should have pulled away sooner, he knew that their relationship would never be able to work. He only gave false hope to the both of them.

Even his own heart beating in his chest wanted to break, but he couldn't let it. If it broke, he would give in to the feeling of Yuri's skin on his, their lips meeting, the passion and fire that was everything Viktor ever dreamed it would be.

And in his nightmares he would slither inside Yuri like the monster he was, full of taint and death.

"Viktor, why are we here? Are you sick?"

Viktor curled his hands around his knees and hunched forward. "I'll tell you, I promise."

"Is it bad?" There was a childish note to his voice, a lilt that reminded Viktor, again and again, that Yuri did not see the world the same way he did. His parents were alive, he was healthy, his world was whole. There was optimism in his voice, still. The world had yet to crush that out of him.

"If you're sick, we can take care of you- I can take care of you." There was panic, now.

The receptionist called his name and Viktor stood, unsurely looking at Yuri. He was shaking now, his entire frame wracked with panic. Viktor wanted to say something, but the words wouldn't come out, and he remembered the silence of the beach. They were able to to click together so easily, to understand one another so fundamentally, and yet here they were-the chasm building between them.

Would Yuri want him to stay as his coach? Would he want to even look at him? Would this burn this comfortable, warm, perfect world down to the ground?

"Just... please wait for me."

Viktor reached out and ran his fingers across Yuri's forehead, pushing away some of the strands sticking to his skin. Knowing this may be his last chance, he leaned down and pressed his lips against the man's forehead, feeling the shaking subside. He tried to smile, but it was almost painful.

He pulled away and headed toward the doctor's office, unzipping his wet jacket. A young nurse smiled at him as she gestured to the chair. Having been going to this particular clinic for near six months, he knew she spoke only basic English, so he quickly removed his jacket and rested it on the nearby seat and took a seat in the other.

"Arm."

Viktor swallowed and nodded as he stretched out his arm and watched the woman pull out a tourniquet, wrapping the blue latex tight around his arm. It always burned when she did it, but he knew it wasn't her fault.

The veins below his skin seemed to pop up to the surface, sickly blue, and she wiped a cold alcohol pad against the crook of his arm. This nurse was his favorite. Despite not being able to communicate, she was fast and never once missed.

Viktor nearly threw up as the first gush of blood hit the plastic and he had to turn away from the sight. He could almost hear it filling and it rolled his stomach. She snapped off the tourniquet and pat his hand, wrapping a small blanket with little kittens around his shoulders with her free hand.

The process only took a few minutes, but by the time she collected her half a dozen tubes of blood, Viktor felt woozy. It could have been the blood, but he was still pretty sure that it had more to do with Yuri. Yuri, poor Yuri, sitting on the brown blocks outside, like a prisoner waiting to hear the judgement.

Yuri, trying to will his heart from breaking.

Life wasn't fair.

He watched the nurse as she pulled out the needle, seeing his red blood against the starkness of his skin. It still, even after six months, felt like black tar would come crawling out of his veins, but it was a little easier now to fight the urge to panic when he saw it. He tried to imagine a field of poppies, something that was beautiful and pure, something untainted by his hand.

She bandaged it with a little _Rilakumma_ bandage, the bear staring up at him with big black dots for eyes. Viktor smiled as she pat his arm, wishing he knew how to tell her it was a good choice.

"Viktor, glad to see you are doing well," Doctor Fujimoto said as he walked through the door, looking up through his glasses. It reminded him of Yuri's glasses, the way they were just a little too big for his face. "And I saw you brought a friend? Is that Yuri Katsuki?"

Viktor nodded and quickly mumbled an _arigatou_ to the nurse who returned with a packet of cookies and a small bottle of juice. He took care not to jostle his arm as he opened the pack and took out one of the cookies, only staring down at it with disinterest.

"You know we can't let you leave until you eat it," Doctor Fujimoto joked as he pulled up his seat. "And it is good that you brought him. I saw that the National Championship is coming up soon-he's going to perform, right?"

"I didn't know you cared about skating," Viktor remarked. He put the cookie back in the packet.

The doctor laughed. He was a carefree man, the lines around his mouth showing his ability to give away smiles with little compunction. He reminded Viktor of what a young, happy Yakov would have been like; serious when needed, but still happy. So… not much like Yakov, actually. The exact opposite, if he were to be honest.

"I can't say I do, but I figured it would be better to figure out something about it since you were my patient. I know it's good to have other things to talk about."

It was true. the overwhelming feeling of his disorder sometimes felt like a weight on his chest, holding his head underwater. And not having anyone to talk to... it was self-created isolation.

"Does he know about your diagnosis?"

Viktor shook his head. "I didn't... I didn't want him to worry."

"I hate to ask, but if he is your sexual partner, you need to let him know."

Viktor shook his head again. "I've... we've... I haven't..."

"There are cameras in the elevator. You gave Mariko-chan a fright..."

Viktor could have cried, but instead he laughed. It was all he could do, like letting the dam break, and he allowed himself to laugh, unable to quiet himself.

"Our first kiss-in an elevator-my doctor watching."

The doctor looked suitably uncomfortable. "I'm sorry, Mr. Nikiforov."

Viktor shook his head again. "He isn't my lover."

Viktor hated the taste of the words. Had it been two years before, no doubt he would have already taken Yuri to his bed. Yuri had no idea how enticing he was, how perfectly his body moved to the music. He was sensuality in its purest, most natural form. It was the first sin, given freely.

Yet now...

"I'm going to tell him after this... It isn't going to work. I can't."

"Viktor, this isn't a death sentence. I know it has been hard, but you have been responding to your medicine incredibly well. Your CD4 count is a little below 400, and your viral load is slowly dropping."

Viktor stared blankly at the doctor. "I don't understand." The humor was gone.

"Viktor, you're getting better. Your immune system took a hit from the pneumonia back in February, but your scans have run clear since July. Your immune system is getting back on track. You still have a relatively high viral load, but it is slowly going down as well."

"But what does that mean?"

"It means that the medicine is working, and it is suppressing the virus. I can't tell you how long it will take for your body to completely recover, but... this is good news, Viktor. It's very good news."

"Am I cured?"

Viktor knew it was not possible. Medicine had yet to come up with a cure. He wanted to eat the words right as he said them, and the doctor seemed to understand.

"You know the answer to that."

Viktor closed his eyes, reaching up to touch the soft blanket around his shoulders. "I know... I just..."

The doctor didn't respond, instead resting his hands on the paperwork haphazardly spread across his desk. "I spoke with Doctor Marks in New York."

"Hn."

"She thinks it would be best for you to stay on the treatment she originally prescribed, and I agree. You seem to be doing fine on them."

Viktor didn't know how to respond to that, instead taking a swallow of juice to try to calm his jittering nerves.

"Your viral load is still a little high, but if you use proper protection, then you drop the chance of infection. There is a small chance of building a resistance to the drug, but for now the most important thing it to get your viral load down. I know you have been very worried about spreading the virus, so you may be a little more comfortable with holding off until you become undetectable."

Viktor blinked at the doctor, then sucked in a breath between his teeth when it clicked. "No. I can't have sex with him."

The doctor adjusted his glasses and looked up to Viktor. "I'm not saying you need to, but if you want to there are safe ways-"

"I won't _kill_ him."

"Viktor, no one is talking about you killing him-"

But Viktor could only hear the blood rushing in his ears and he stood and wobbled for a moment before the nurse appeared from the back doorway and grabbed his arm, gently guided him to the seat.

"Viktor, calm down. Calm down."

He could hear the words but it was fuzzy. All he could hear was Kamkin's voice, his words on repeat. The ice in his voice, the freezing cold.

 _"You will no longer be indulging yourself in sex. If you infect another person, you will go to jail."_

Viktor stared out at the wall behind Doctor Fujimoto's head as the man spoke, but he couldn't concentrate on anything he said. He tried to occasionally look at the doctor, but it became too much and he allowed himself to close his eyes, just for a moment.

He was _exhausted_.

He could hear the moment when the doctor quieted and head the door close, and it was only then he allowed his eyes to open.

There was a new packet of unopened cookies and another bottle of juice on the table, the crumbs still on the floor where his last ones must have fallen. He hated making a mess for the nurses to clean up.

There was a knock at the door, and Viktor made a brief sound to let the person on the other side know he was still there.

It was Doctor Fujimoto.

The man rested on hand in the pocket of his lab coat as he entered the room, making sure to close the door with a resounding thud. "Your friend Yuri wants to see you, if you'd like. I can tell him to wait in the reception if you aren't ready. But, if you are, we can move you into one of the family rooms. It's more comfortable there."

"I don't know what to say to him."

It was the truth. Viktor had no intention on ever telling Yuri he was sick. It was something he wanted to protect Yuri from, to never be the cause for him to lose the spark of passion in his eyes. How long had he been Yuri's idol? And how quickly would he destroy that fire?

But the kiss, that rough and passionate kiss with too much teeth and saliva, it made Viktor feel something he hadn't felt in months. For those few moments, it was like he was a new person. He was not the old Viktor, the playboy with a phone filled with numbers he never intended on calling. He was not the sick Viktor, sobbing on the floor as he coughed up phlegm and tainted black blood.

For that moment he was above that, he was something he could have been proud of, somebody he knew Yuri needed him to be.

Yuri made him stronger.

And yet here he was, weak and afraid.

"You can tell him however much or little you think is important."

Viktor didn't like the answer. "I don't want him to hate me."

"Viktor, you have an illness. I don't pretend to know what you are feeling right now, but I do know that I have had many patients who have been in your shoes. I don't recommend doing this on your own, especially when there is someone who wants to be by your side. After all you've told me about him, he doesn't strike me as the type of person to run away from a challenge."

"If I got him sick, I could go to jail."

"Who told you that?"

"My doctor."

"Doctor Marks?"

Viktor frowned. "No, my Russian doctor... he made me sign papers, saying that if I infected anyone I would go to jail." Viktor looked up to Doctor Fujimoto. "He said I won't get my medicine. I've heard what happens to people like me in places like that. I don't want to die as a _petukh._ "

"A what?"

"In prison... it's a man... they don't consider him a man. So they... they use him however they want." Viktor couldn't continue speaking, his throat dry and hands shaking. "I can't live like that."

"Viktor, this is Japan. This is not Russia. Rest easy, we have no intention on sending you to jail in the unlikely event you infect your partner accidentally."

The words were meant to be a comfort, but Viktor could not help the feeling of uneasiness in the pit of his stomach. "I... I don't think I'm ready for sex."

"Then go out on a date."

The doctor's answer was so simple that Viktor couldn't help but laugh, this time a laugh that did not make him want to panic. How true- having spent so much of his life surrounded by sex, it was hard to think of a relationship without the touch of a warm body against his, the passion in his belly as hands roamed and the sheets went wet with sweat.

Not the sweat of nightmares, but of pure adulation.

But a date? "Like coffee?"

Doctor Fujimoto laughed and responded with a "Sure, why not?" But he was smiling, something the doctor carried around with little fear. It was so different from Kamkin.

"Viktor, you're a young man. You have all of the time in the world before you. Take care of yourself and you should live a long, happy life. And no one should live a long, happy life alone."

His sincerity bled into his words, and Viktor wanted to believe him. More than wanted, he could feel desperation pulling at him from every direction.

He needed to believe him.

"Is it still raining?"

"I think so."

"Then I want to talk with him in here, please."

Viktor took his time pulling himself up out of the seat, his legs still feeling a little weak. He picked up the now dry jacket from the seat, pulling it on and holding onto it, wishing he could drown in the smell of Yuri's body wash and the wisp of cologne. He followed the doctor through the opposite door he entered into the hallway, seeing a few small rooms tucked away. It wasn't a big clinic, only four patient rooms, and he felt incredibly lucky that the office was not busy. He wasn't sure if he could have this conversation outside of the clinic.

"Here, you can stay as long as you need to. It's a little past noon and we have a quiet day, so I'll come by before we close up shop. I'll have Mariko-chan bring some coffee."

"Thank you, Doctor Fujimoto... you don't have to do all of this."

The man clapped Viktor on the shoulder and looked at him seriously for a moment. "It isn't any trouble, Mr. Nikiforov. If he has any questions, I'd be happy to answer them for you. Just let me know."

Viktor nodded and the doctor let go of his shoulder and opened the door, hitting the lights on the side of the room.

It was cute. Little panda bears adorned the walls, the ceiling hanging small paper stars above their heads. There was a light in the corner and the medical equipment was concealed from sight with an arrangement of curtains. There was even a small stuffed poodle on the couch in the corner of the room.

"Most people feel more relaxed here than in the other rooms. It's a lot more friendly."

It was hard to imagine a child feeling anything bad here. It was like cutting off from the rest of the world, just for a moment. "I think it is a good place."

Viktor headed for the couch and picked up the poodle, running his hands over the soft fabric. It wasn't the same as Makkachin, but it was still a comfort. He took a seat, sliding off his wet shoes. He hadn't even realized they were still on, but it felt so much more comfortable to slide his legs onto the sofa, under him. He could feel the hems of his pants were a little damp and he hoped that it wouldn't do too much damage to the couch.

When the door clicked open he saw Yuri's messy head of hair and the big glasses, and it made Viktor want to reach out and push his hand through it again, just one last time. If Yuri wanted to leave, he would let him, but all he wanted in that moment was to feel his hair against his hands.

"Viktor..." Yuri said hesitantly as he closed the door, letting Viktor's name hang in the air. "I'm scared."

"I'm sorry for scaring you. Here, come." Viktor patted the couch seat next to him. "I... this is hard for me."

Yuri's clothes were mostly dry, though his hair was still quite wet. Viktor could tell from the way Yuri rubbed at the back of his head, the way he did when the sweat on his scalp while skating made him cold. When he sat down Viktor could see him shiver.

"Are you cold? Here," Viktor reached out and pulled off Yuri's jacket, wrapping it around Yuri's body. "I don't want you to catch a cold. You have Nationals next week, remember?"

Yuri looked up at him through hooded eyes, eyes that told Viktor that he couldn't have cared less about skating at that very moment. "Viktor, please... just tell me. Tell me what is wrong. Can I fix it?"

His breath caught in his throat and Viktor reached out to run his hands over Yuri's face, thumb tracing his lips and his chin, letting his index fingers wipe across the dusting of freckles dotting his cheeks like the stars on a midsummer night.

"You can't fix me, Yuri. I'm sick."

Viktor tried to memorize each freckle, the clusters against soft skin.

"I thought I was invincible, Yuri. I did a lot of things I'm not proud of... and now..."

"Viktor. Don't apologize to me. You don't need to."

It was hard for Viktor to listen to those sweet words, those naive and foolish words. "Yuri, don't, please let me just say this."

Yuri seemed to fight against saying something before nodding his head. "Okay, Viktor. I'll wait."

Viktor didn't want to look at Yuri's face, but he made himself do so. He needed to see it, to know. It was self-flagellation at its finest.

"Yuri, I have HIV."

The air was gone from the room and Yuri's eyes widened. Viktor wanted to pull away his hands, to free Yuri from the prison of his illness, but the other part wanted to hold him captive. This was his sun, his fire, his _brightness_.

"But you're healthy."

Viktor blinked at the response. "I'm on medicine... I was sick back in February. My lungs... I had pneumonia."

Viktor didn't want to tell him about the phlegm and feeling like he was drowning on land.

"But you're healthy now. I... I don't understand."

"I am, I'm taking my medicine. But that doesn't mean I'm not sick."

Yuri drew in a deep breath, his nostrils quivering. "But you're healthy. You're _here_ , you're _alive_ , you don't look sick. You skate as you always have, You smile. You aren't dying." Yuri reached up with his hands to grab Viktor's face, and it was only then that Viktor let his hands fall. "You aren't dying... right?"

"No. I'm not dying. Not right now." It felt weird to admit that, even though he did not understand the words himself. It didn't matter how many times the doctors repeated the words, it was still hard for him to comprehend, to wrap his mind around. "I'm…. I'm still _alive._ "

Yuri choked back something and let go of Viktor's face. Viktor didn't know how to respond, letting his body go slack, returning his hands to the poodle stuffed animal. This was what rejection was like, wasn't it? He had expected it, after all. He deserved it...

" _Vikku_." There it was again, that nickname that made Viktor feel like he was unraveling from within, that Yuri found the string to pull him completely apart.

"I... I don't know a lot about... this. I've barely even kissed you."

Viktor closed his eyes.

"You don't need to kiss me for me to be your coach." He knew how important it was for Yuri to have him there, how much he had grown since Viktor became his coach. It was like watching the sun realize that everything revolved around it. He was no longer so scared. "I would never punish you... I want to be your coach. I want to be with you, in any way you'll have me."

"No, no _Vikku_."

Oh, he didn't want him as a coach, either? He had gotten so lucky with Yakov. Maybe Yakov was right, that chasing the fire was bound to leave him scorched.

Viktor did not want to open his eyes, instead leaning forward, pulling the poodle stuffed animal closer to his face.

"That came out wrong, _Vikku_. No, please."

Viktor lowered the poodle and raised up his face, opening his eyes enough to see Yuri.

Yuri's cheeks lost their color and it was so clear he was on the verge of tears-Viktor could already see the hint of them on his eyelashes- but his fists were clenched and his eyes were bright like burning stars. "Viktor. I'm staying with you. I... I want to be by your side." He reached out and pulled away the stuffed poodle, interlacing his fingers with Viktor's.

He was scared, that much was obvious. His hands were shaking and his breath came with shattered stops, but despite that Viktor could feel the strong pulse and grip as Yuri pulled him closer, and he allowed his head to fall onto Yuri's shoulder. It was an uncomfortable position, but in that moment, feeling the warmth of Yuri's skin radiating from under his shirt, Viktor would have given anything to spend the rest of his life like that.

"You don't hate me?"

"No, never."

"You're going to stay?"

"If you want me to."

Viktor breathed in Yuri's smell, like dusky spring afternoons. It reminded him of joy, of strong arms wrapped around him as he flew through the air, of his papa's laughter and his mama's warm skin against his own as she reached out and pulled him across the ice. There was nothing but clean air and the sound of their laughter and the clink of the metal against ice.

"Yuri," Viktor whispered against Yuri's neck as he ran his thumb across Yuri's hand, "can I kiss you? Is that okay?" He would understand if Yuri said no. This was foreign, this was terrifying, this was infection and disease.

But... there was a chance for him to live, to really live.

And he didn't want to do it without Yuri by his side.

Yuri swallowed and Viktor felt the other man pull away. How had he managed to not cry Viktor could only assume was the same way he held himself together-barely, and with the promise that the morning would come no matter what happened.

It was a hesitant kiss, that much Viktor knew. It was a kiss that was so soft he was unsure if their lips were even touching. It was a butterfly kiss, one that was fleeting and fragile, one that would break apart if he touched its wings.

It was everything Yuri was, and everything Viktor needed.

Viktor wasn't sure if he should reach up to cup Yuri's cheek, and was blessedly released from his thoughts when Yuri pressed his fingers against Viktor's scalp, threading his fingers between his hair.

When Yuri broke the kiss he rested his forehead against Viktor's.

"I'm scared."

"Me too."

"Can we be scared together?"

Viktor looked into brown eyes, deep and endless.

"I think I'd like that, Yuri."

Viktor could hear his heart beating in his ears and he listened to the blood pumping through his veins without flinching.

He could hear Yuri's heartbeat, too.

* * *

 **Please Review!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes:** This is a strange chapter because it is not a typical chapter. It is basically catching up the story with the background information I thought was important. Life is still going on outside of our characters world, particularly for Viktor. Things are just beginning for him.

As you can tell, this chapter may read a bit choppy, but this is due to the medium the information is read on (Mostly using the internet and things like twitter, online blogs, emails, and texts.) This may be weird at first, but I hope that you will stick through it.

The next chapter will return to "normal" style.

Full notes can be found on my AO3 account. Please feel free to follow me on tumblr at rsasai, where I will happily answer questions!

* * *

 **February 15th, 2014  
**

 **Viktor Nikiforov Wins Gold in Sochi!  
** **(Girl's Tears special edition interview with the one and only Russian Hearthrob!)  
** **By: Nina Ignatyeva**

What a hair-splitting night it was in Sochi, watching the magnificent spectacle that was Viktor Nikiforov's medalling ceremony after one of the most heart-stopping spectacles of the Olympics! After his phenomenal Free Skate to Imani Botha's "Death of the Nightingale" it is no surprise that Viktor crushed the competition with an amazing score of 177.34, topping his record-breaking 176.54 in the previous Grand Prix event.

Considering the rocky ending to their relationship (and let's not forget the drunk video that surfaced after their break up of Imani throwing herself at former Yankee's baseball player Jackson Higgens at a part weeks before their breakup!) it was shocking to see her music being used for his Free Program. What was even more scandalizing was that she was in the audience with her newest boy of the week! Poor Viktor! We can imagine where he got the strength to perform and break all of our hearts, even if he says otherwise!

This lucky reporter for Girl's Tears got the chance to sit down with the one and only Viktor Nikiforov to talk about his big win, his plans for the future, and about any new interests that have his heart fluttering! We also got to surprise him with the letters, pictures, and art that his fans have been sending to our office in record numbers!

 _~Interview~_

 **Nina** : Thank you so much for the opportunity to meet you today, Viktor! Girl's Tears has been supporting you all this time. Our office, as well as some of our devoted Russian readers wanted to give you this book as a sign of our unending support!

 **Viktor** : Thank you, Nina. It is absolutely perfect. I will treasure it forever. (Viktor looked through the first few pages, breaking into smiles at some of the art! Thank you all for sending it in!)

 **Nina** : Moving into more serious matters- congratulations on your first Olympic Gold medal!

 **Viktor** : _Laughs_ Oh, thank you. It was really surprising, the competition was amazingly strong, but I was able to do it in the end.

 **Nina** : You were the best skater out there, Viktor! We were all breathless when you managed your quad flip- in your warmup you over-rotated.

 **Viktor** : Ah, yes. It was a miscalculation, but I am so happy that at the end of the day I was able to land all of my quads perfectly, leading to my win.

 **Nina** : The music you chose for your short program also came as a surprise to many of your Russian fans- you used a horror movie lullaby!

 **Vikto** r: _Laughs_ Ah, yes. Tili-tili Bom. I heard it from one of my American friends, and was completely enthralled by its sound. It was so haunting, it sent chills up my spine. It reminded me of pure terror, which really matched with the feelings from Imani's piece "Death of the Nightingale." I had her rearrange the piece with the original producer... and the rest is history.

 **Nina** : Yes, Imani Botha, your ex-lover. She was in the audience.

 **Viktor** : As she should have been! I invited her. Really, we are very close friends. She is a wonderful composer and such a beautiful person, I was truly honored that she was willing to help me with composing the music, even after we romantically parted ways.

 **Nina** : A lot of readers have been wondering how you are since your breakup. Fans were worried after your fall during the Rostelecom Cup... especially considering it happened after those videos surfaced.

 **Viktor** : Videos? Oh, those. Really, I think the media is blowing that out of proportion.

 **Nina** : She was still dating you when those videos were shot!

 **Vikto** r: Ms. Ignatyeva, please believe me when I say it really isn't something that should worry my fans. I'm not worried by it,. No, not at all. In fact I was at that party. We were all drinking and having fun; it shouldn't be taken out of context.

 **Nina** : Oh! But we didn't see you in the videos.

 **Viktor** : I was playing a drinking game with some of the guys in the next room over. It's probably best no one saw me in the video; I'm not very good with my liquor. I wouldn't want my fans to see me like that. Those videos were meant for friends only, so I am really sad that they ended up on the internet. Imani was really upset, and with some of the nasty things people have been sending her online...

 **Nina** : There have been a lot of fans of yours defending you on social media.

 **Viktor** : You mean sending horrible messages to Imani. Really, I know that people are very passionate in my life, my joys and sorrows, but Imani and I parted on the best of terms. I still consider her one of the most important people in my life, so I would really like it if she stopped getting attacked.

 **Nina** : You are such a lovely man, Viktor.

 **Viktor** : I like to think that anyone would feel the same way.

 **Nina** : There have been some whispers that you may be seeing someone new...?

 **Viktor** : _Laughs_ Oh, no. Not right now. I am enjoying the chance to experiment with life, see things from a different perspective. A relationship really isn't something I need right now, especially since I plan on participating at the 2018 Olympics next.

 **Nina** : Already planning on your next victory? You only won last night!

 **Viktor** : I never want to give up skating. It is my purpose in life, it is what makes me wake up in the morning and go to bed at night.

 **Nina** : It sounds like you don't want to have any fun!

 **Viktor** : Not at all! Since my season is done now, with an entire week of events that I don't have to participate in left, I think I am going to sleep in tomorrow and enjoy the rest of the games! I want to have fun, of course, but only for a little while. Then I'll get back to skating.

 **Nina** : This may be a little salacious, but our readers would never forgive us if we didn't ask...

 **Viktor** : Only for you and Girl's Tears, Nina. What is it?

 **Nina** : There were some rumors of the Olympics Villages running rampant with sex and internet dating apps being used in mass... Would you like to comment on it?

 **Viktor** : Oh, Nina, you know how those stories snowball. I haven't seen anything of the sort. And I would never participate in something so scandalous-you think Yakov would let me do something to endanger my career? Or that I would do something to break the hearts of my closest fans?

 **Nina** : You're totally right, Viktor. Now, moving onto some other questions sent to us on VK by our readers-

* * *

 **February 18th, 2014**

 **Subject: IMPORTANT: PLEASE READ  
** **From: International Olympics Committee  
** **To: Viktor Nikiforov**

Athletes,

Please note that we have received repeated comments and complaints in regards to sexual activity at the Olympic Village. Please be aware that outdoor sexual activity violates our strict ban and we will enforce our policy within the guidelines set in our terms and conditions for anyone who violates the ban. Consequences can be found in the booklets presented to you during orientation. If you have lost your copy, a PDF can be found on the Olympics forums.

We also suggest continued usage of condoms and other prophylactics. Should you run out of the needed materials, please stop by the local medical units to receive more.

Also be aware that condoms and other prophylactics should be properly disposed of in the trash. Please do not throw them out the windows, leave them on the roof, or flush them down the toilet.

We would like to stress that the Olympics Association is inclusive and understanding of your rights and liberties, however it is important to realize these rules are deemed necessary for the safety and protection of all our athletes.

If you have any questions, please feel free to contact us through our official forum, the Olympic Hub.

Signed,

IOC

* * *

 **February 20th, 2014  
**

 **Viktor Nikiforov on Tinder?! (and Grindr?)  
** **By: Laura Roberts**

Pull out your phones, ladies (and gents?) enjoying the Olympics in Sochi! It looks like some fans of Viktor Nikiforov have found out that this heart-throb of the figure skating world is an active member on Tinder!

Several lucky girls have sent us in screenshots of what we can only assume is our favorite skater's profile, including pictures of him snuggled up with his poodle and one rather risqué shot of Viktor with his shirt unbuttoned! Instant nose-bleed alert!

However, it seems that not only the ladies can get lucky with a swipe from this sexy ice star! One man has sent us unverified photos of what could be Viktor Nikiforov from the gay hook-up app "Grindr." The picture is very different from that of the cute poodle pictures on Tinder-more sexy, with only a body shot and the lower jaw visible. And when we say lower body shot, boy do we mean it!

Say it isn't so!

It seems that Viktor is denying it on twitter as well as in Russia's "Girl's Tears" Magazine, which ran their online article earlier in the week.

Either way, let's hope that love shines down on our favorite Gold Medal Olympian this February! It is the month of love!

* * *

 **September 4th, 2014**

 _To: Mikael_  
 _From: Vikto **r**_

It was great to meet you last night, Mikael. I hope we can meet again.

 **September 5th, 2014**

 _To: Viktor_  
 _From: Mikael_

I'd like that. You free tonight?

* * *

 **February 14th, 2015  
**

 **TO: MR NIKIFOROV  
** **FROM: YOUR SECRET ADMIRER**

A dozen red roses and one white, tucked in the center. No card.

Delivered at 12:41PM

* * *

 **February 14th, 2015**

 _To: Mikael_  
 _From: Viktor_

Oh, so you're spending the night with her? I thought you said you would tell her?

 **February 14th, 2015**

 _To: Vitya_  
 _From: Mikael_

I love you. Just give me time to figure things out.

* * *

 **June 5th, 2015**

 _To: Mikael_  
 _From: Viktor_

Thank you for loving me, Mikael.

* * *

 **June 16th, 2015**

 _To: Vitya_  
 _From: Mikael_

Maybe when we retire we should move to America and get married.

 **June 16th, 2015**

 _To: Mikael_  
 _From: Viktor_

Yes.

* * *

 **October 31st, 2015  
**

 **CAUGHT KISSING?!  
** **Gold-Medal Russian Figure Skater Viktor Nikiforov caught kissing Russia's Football Star Mikael Loskov on a rendezvous through Moscow!  
** **By: Grigory Kashin**

Earlier this week paparazzi spotted Viktor Nikiforov and his married friend Mikael Loskov in Moscow. The two, hand-in-hand, were spotted drunkenly making their way from the infamous club Central Station, where the two were pictured partying and dancing until late in the evening.

Pictures were taken of what looks like Viktor and Mikael sharing a kiss and what can be debated as a sexual encounter. Due to current laws and regulations, we have chosen not to publish them on our servers, as we do not want to promote the homosexual lifestyle to our readers. Photos can be found on sites and in gossip magazines like 7 Days, which have begun championing for the two men to admit their sexual infidelity to their Russian fans.

Mikael was spotted today along with his young wife, Natalya, in their local neighborhood. When asked for comment, Mikael released the following:

 _"Oh, that night. Viktor was drunk and vomited everywhere. He can't handle his liquor. I find it offensive you would call me a petukh and I am sure Viktor would feel the same. Don't confuse friendship for that nonsense. My wife doesn't find it funny, and neither do I. Maybe Viktor does, but he has always had a strange sense of humor."_

Yet, the photos look more like a homosexual encounter than what Loskov admits. Is possible that two of the foremost athletes in Russia are homosexuals? And what would that mean for the Kremlin, who recently announced a new bill to ban public displays of homosexual or non-traditional relations. The pictures would clearly be against this new law, should it be enacted.

* * *

 **November 1st, 2015**

T _o: Mikael_  
 _From: Viktor_

Mikael, please answer my texts or calls. I'm worried.

 **November 1st, 2015**

 _To: Mikael_  
 _From: Viktor_

I love you, please don't do this.

 **November 1st, 2015**

 _To: Vitya_  
 _From: Mikael_

I don't care, it's over.

 **November 1st, 2015**

 _To: Mikael_  
 _From: Viktor_

Did you really say that, Mikael?

 **November 1st, 2015**

 _To: BLOCKED_  
 _From: Mikael_

Yes. Go away, you fucking petukh. Stop messaging me.

 **November 1st, 2015**

 _To: Mikael_  
 _From: Viktor_

But... Mikael... I love you.

 ** _MESSAGE CANNOT BE SENT AT THIS TIME._**

* * *

 **November 19th, 2015  
**

 **Mikael Loskov and Viktor Nikiforov- Friends or Lovers?  
** **By: Nina Ignatyeva**

Fans of Mikael and Viktor has been embroiled in online wars, using Twitter, Instagram, and VK to lob insults at one another as well as the two athletes.

The sexualities of these two men has surfaced due to a few photos that were leaked online by our sister magazine 7 Days last month. The photos which look to be intimate in nature, have brought up the debate on whether or not it is okay to post that kind of stuff in public.

While both men have vehemently opposed the pictures, with Mikael Loskov saying that the photos were taken out of context, it has brought up an interesting problem for us at Girls Tears-if the photos were real, would it be okay to run that information for our young readers?

We have chosen to NOT support that kind of material, especially since Viktor and Mikael have both said it wasn't true!

Mikael's gorgeous wife, Natalya, gave a brief comment at her most recent art show in Moscow, saying, _"Viktor is a close family friend, and I consider him a part of our family. It's terrible that people would assume the worst about my husband and our dear friend. And it hurts me to think that people believe I am not good enough of a wife to keep my husband's eye."_

Poor Natalya! This must be really hard on her.

It also has been hard on Viktor, who was spotted back in St. Petersburg at his favorite bar, though not alone! He was next to the beautiful Giovanna Braga, Brazil's top model! And considering the steamy kiss caught on camera, it seems any worries about his and Mikael's relationship was unfounded!

Rest your hearts, ladies!

* * *

 **February 26th, 2016**

 **Where in the World is Viktor Nikiforov?**  
 **By: Anna Popov**

It's been an amazing few months since the amazing Grand Prix event and yet all is not right with the world. It seems, according to several sources, that Viktor Nikiforov has gone missing!

You read that right- our angel on ice has disappeared, with him taking all of our hearts!

He was last seen in early January, sporting a terrible cold. Fans were worried that Viktor caught the nasty H1N1 influenza virus that was once again popular this year, but when asked Viktor waved it with a smile.

But now it's only a few short weeks before the Tokyo World Figure Skating Championships and everyone has started wondering where in the world is Viktor Nikiforov?

One skater who asked to be anonymous, told 7 Days, _"That asshole is off moping around like a fucking baby. It isn't like he's dying, it's just a stupid cough and he's overacting. He better get his shit together. He promised me he would help me with my skate and if he fucks this up I'll kill him. Now... wait. What are you doing here? Who are you? Get out of here, you goddamn nutcase! Yakov-wait, where's Yakov?"_

There was more, but we at 7 Days decided to not publish it... for obvious reasons.

But the fact remains that Viktor Nikiforov is missing. If anyone sees him, let his fans know!

* * *

 **March 8th, 2016**

 **Twitter**

 **NYSkateFree1994:** OMG I JUST SAW VIKTOR NIKIFOROV IN NYC! ON MY RINK. *DEAD*

J **usticemok54** : NYSkateFree1994 WTF WHAT IS HE DOING HERE?!

 **NYSkateFree1994** : Justicemok54 NO IDEA BUT HE WIPED OUT ON THE ICE AND BLED EVERYWHERE

 **Justicemok54** : NYSkateFree1994 BULLSHIT PICS OR IT DIDNT HAPPEN

 **NYSkateFree1994** : Justicemok54 HERE _GDDSKLJFDSLKFJ_

 **Justicemok54** : NYSkateFree1994 OHMYGAWD IS HE OKAY?

 **NYSkateFree1994** : Justicemok54 NO CLUE HE RAN WHEN I TRIED TO HELP BUT STILL I BREATHED THE SAME AIR AS VIKTOR NIKIFOROV OMGOMGOMG

 **NYSkateFree1994** : Justicemok54 SEND A DOCTOR I THINK I DIED

 **Justicemok54** : NYSkateFree1994 MAYBE WE SHOULD WORRY ABOUT VIKTOR FIRST

 **NYSkateFree1994** : Justicemok54 HE WILL BE FINE BUT I WONT _LDKHFSDJKHFS_

* * *

 **March 9th, 2016**

 **Viktor Nikiforov has CANCER?!  
** **By: Nina Ignatyeva**

The ice skating fandom imploded on itself today after two up-and-coming skaters, Vincent Parks and Yolanda Hernandez, tweeted about a run-in with Viktor Nikiforov in NYC.

Fans have been in a panic to find out where Viktor has been hiding, and it seems that these skaters were able to solve that mystery. There was a photo posted where it seems that Viktor fell and had a nosebleed-poor Viktor!

Of course this has sent his fans into a panic, thinking that our favorite skater may be facing a deathly illness on his own! Oh, the tragedy! Some fans think that Viktor may have cancer! We at Girls Tears have tried contacting his agency, but unfortunately it seems that all calls are being routed out at this time.

There are many fans on social media sending worried messages to Viktor's Instagram, which hasn't been updated since Mid-February. ***EDIT: As of March 10th, Viktor has put out a picture of himself and his coach in New York. It is captioned with how excited they were to get to meet a few new potential skaters. Whew!***

While Viktor's new post about his reasons for being in New York give most of 7 Days staff hope, we will definitely be waiting until the upcoming Tokyo World Figure Skating Championships!

* * *

 **March 17th, 2016**

 **TO: xxxxxxxxx**  
 **FROM: anonymous**

 **SUBJECT: you were exposed to hiv**

go to the doctor and get tested

i am so sorry

please forgive me

* * *

 **March 26th, 2016**

 **Rumors go wild after Viktor Nikiforov's win in Tokyo!  
** **By: Anna Popov**

Despite his phenomenal performance at the Tokyo World Figure Skating Championships earlier this week, fans and colleagues alike have been questioning whether or not something is wrong with Viktor Nikiforov.

After going missing for all of February (and you can remember all of our panic then!) some fans assumed that Viktor was sick, but we at 7 Days were very careful not to feed into that idea! If anything, Viktor only had a cold!

Yet, despite his impeccable performance, Viktor looked exhausted. During his free skate of "Stay Close to Me" at one point it looked as though he would burst into tears. All of Russia's heart broke at the sight of our beloved angel on ice being so deeply unhappy.

During Viktor's interview he was careful not to talk too much about the upcoming skating year, but we truly hope that he will be as impressive this coming year as he has been for the last 15 years of his amazing career! Fans are not prepared for the idea of a figure skating world without him, so we hope that Viktor will be able to handle the current stresses in his life.

We here at 7 Days will support you, Viktor!

* * *

 **April 18th, 2016**

 **Josei Jishin's exclusive- Russia's Viktor Nikiforov in Kyushu! Will he be Katsuki Yuri's coach?!  
** **By: Miko Furimatsu**

The internet has gone wild after Viktor Nikiforov, world-champion and Olympic-Gold winner at the 2014 Sochi Games, announced on his Instagram that he was in the sleepy hot spring town of Hasetsu, Saga Prefecture. His love for Hasetsu Castle and Ninjas allowed his fans to peace all the information together about his location a - and we can now say that we have confirmation with our own eyes that the figure skating God has touched down in Japan to help one of our own!

Rumors have been flying since the announcement on April 11th by Yakov Feltsman, stating that Viktor-san decided to put away his skates for this seasons to help coach our very own Katsuki Yuri! Now we promise that we will keep a reporter on the scene to follow these exciting details as they unfold!

Long-time readers know all about Josei Jishin's love for our Yuri-kun, and we cannot express how excited we are to see Russia's top skater come to Japan to help build up Yuri-kun's confidence! Some had been speculating on whether or not Yuri-kun would return to the rink after his devastating loss at the Grand Prix last year. However, with Viktor-san as his coach there is no way he can lose!

This reporter was sent down to see exactly what Viktor-san has been doing with his time, and I am so excited to say that things are looking to be shaping up to one of the best figure skating years of all time!

We will keep you updated with any exciting information in the coming months!

FIGHT!

* * *

 **October 12th, 2016**

 **Pregnant Natalya Loskov Leaves Mikael!**  
 **By: Nina Ignatyeva**

In a shocking revelation yesterday, it was announced that Natalya Loskov has filed for divorce from her husband, famous football player Mikael Loskov. The couple, who married in a lavish ceremony in 2014, excitedly announced the pregnancy only six weeks ago after paparazzi snapped several pictures of Natalya looking a little rounder around the waist than usual.

However, not even a baby could fix the issues between Mikael and Natalya. Sources say that the relationship had been rocky since the scandals last year about Mikael's relationship with Viktor Nikiforov, the world-champion and Olympic-medalist figure skater. Despite insistence on their familial relationship, it seems the pressure and questioning was too much for Natalya to take.

Even more shocking is that according to some, Natalya is not technically requesting a divorce- she is requesting an annulment, which will grant her rights outside of her iron-clad prenuptial agreement signed before her wedding. This would not be unprecedented, though incredibly uncommon. Why is Natalya filing for an annulment? We here at Girl's Tears have tried to ask for details, but unfortunately Natalya has been incredibly busy.

Natalya was the picture of serenity when journalists met her at her Moscow home, smiling and waving as her father helped her walk to their car, holding the door open for her. While not far along, it is clear that her pregnancy has taken its toll on the vibrant woman. Hey typical blonde hair was thrown in a sloppy bun and there were bruises from lack of sleep under her eyes. Poor thing!

 _"I'm just a little tired, it's been a long few weeks."_

Of course reporters have attempted to contact Viktor Nikiforov in regards to the matter, but he has yet to respond to our emails.

Either way, this is a tragic ending for what was once a fairy-tale romance. We can only hope for a light at this cold, dark tunnel.

* * *

 **November 3rd, 2016**

 **Love on Ice?!  
** **Viktor Nikiforov kisses Katsuki Yuri at the Cup of China  
** **By: Miko Furimatsu**

Fans were stunned to silence after Viktor Nikiforov jumped onto the ice and kissed his student, Katsuki Yuri, full on the mouth in front of an entire audience of adoring fans tonight after Yuri-kun completed his Free Skate. After a rousing applause from the fans after a shocked moment, the two pulled themselves off the ice and into the Kiss and Cry box, where they proceeded to wrap their arms against one another in one of the most romantic poses ever!

This reporter, even after seeing it multiple times, in multiple angles, cannot believe what she has seen! Yuri-kun and Viktor-san kissing on the mouth in front of the world? Is this love? Or is it an innocent action from an exuberant coach to his student?

I don't think so! That was a kiss if I ever have seen one, readers! It looks like Yuri-kun and Viktor-san are officially off the market! But don't cry, girls-we should hope that our Yuri-kun and Viktor-san have the most welcoming reception in Japan!

We here at Josei Jishin will support Yuri-kun wherever his skates may take him, and if that means into the arms of the infamous Russian playboy, we can only hope that he can brace ourselves and our tissues for what will come in the future! Whether it be good or bad, we will fly our Katsuki Yuri flag high!

Yuri-kun managed to medal silver, while his friend Phichit Chulanont, Thailand, grabbed the Gold. Christophe Giacometti of Switzerland took home bronze. We will see Yuri-kun move on to the Rostelecom Cup on November 22nd in Moscow, Russia. Please continue to follow us for more on this breaking story. And feel free to send in all the art you'd like!

* * *

 **November 3rd, 2016**

 **To: Grigory Kashin**  
 **From: xxxxxxxx**

 **Subject: Viktor Nikiforov is Gay with AIDS**

Viktor Nikiforov has been reckless in his sexual escapades, no doubt infecting others with his virus. I do not believe that his infection will stop him and his hyper-promiscuity, as it is clear from his predatory behavior with the Japanese skater today that he does not care about the livelihood of others.

Details and medical records are enclosed.

Use it as you wish.

* * *

 **Please Review!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes** : I need to dispel the notion that having HIV/AIDS is actually a death sentence for everyone who gets it. I need to make clear under NO UNCERTAIN TERMS that this story will fall into this destructive trope. I do not support this trope. I think this trope is incredibly harmful to those who have HIV. This is why hope is such an incredibly important force in life.

I have spent my entire adult life fighting against this notion. You know what happens when people believe that?

They don't go and get tested. They fear people who have HIV.

People genuinely fear HIV/AIDS. It isn't contagious. Repeat this with me- IT IS NOT CONTAGIOUS. It is not easily transmitted. It is not the common cold. It is not the flu. There has to be direct blood or sexual secretion for transmission.

That is right. You can kiss someone who has HIV. You can use their shampoo in the bathroom. You can drink after them. You can even have sex with them as long as there is a protective barrier between their fluid and yours. Actually, as long as your viral load is undetectable it is almost impossible to transmit the virus. That is correct-it is actually safer to have sex without a condom with an HIV+ person who is taking their medicine and has been undetectable for 6 months than a person whose status you don't know.

There is no reason to be afraid of HIV+ people. You probably know someone who is HIV+ and never knew it. There is also a good chance that they don't know it, either. 30% of people who are infected don't know.

I have purposely brought up how destructive and unhealthy Viktor's fatalistic outlook on his diagnosis has been. Let me make this even more clear- this is not healthy. This is not okay. Viktor needs to work through it, which he is. He has got a long way to go though, especially since he keeps thinking he needs to be "fixed" and that he is "broken." The way others treat him is also extremely dangerous, especially in the beginning.

Thank you for your support for the previous chapter, and I hope that you enjoy this chapter. Well, you know what I mean. Enjoying is a difficult word to use with this story.

If it gets too depressing, go watch episode 2 from 4:36-4:41 on repeat. That is what got me through some of this chapter.

I also need to remind you that while things are hard, please realize that it does NOT mean this story is a tragedy. The main theme of this story has been, and will always be, life. Living with HIV is terrifying, especially in the beginning. I don't do tragedy.

People have been asking me about the ending, and I want to say that the Epilogue has been pretty much written since before I started writing out the first chapter. We are roughly half-way through the story now, meaning we are going to get into more legal information and figure skating in the next chapter.

Some explicit material in the first and second section.

* * *

It was hard to breathe.

Viktor felt the cold Beijing air biting at his cheeks and that familiar sting in his lungs as he and Yuri ran through the streets, hand in hand. They dodged the cars and people on bikes, ignoring the yells and avoiding the red lanterns hanging from above. The smell of smog and sweet meat cooking hit his face as he passed by a dozen food stalls peddling their wares, but not even this could stop them.

They swerved through the laughing people, and Viktor could feel Yuri's hand slicking with sweat. It didn't matter, though. He knew Yuri wouldn't let go.

Yuri would never let him go.

"Viktor! I can't-I can't breathe," Yuri laughed and pulled his arm back as they slowed down. There was a family milling out from a local restaurant and impossible for them not to get sucked into the atmosphere or moving bodies and joy. Something exciting was happening for the large group-a newborn child? A marriage? A birthday? Something happy, that much he was sure of, yet...

Viktor _felt_ it.

Just like he could feel Yuri's hand clamped around his, holding on for dear life.

This was what life felt like.

This was _joy_.

Viktor pulled Yuri close as the people surrounded them and spun around, not caring that his lungs were on fire or that there was a stitch in his side. Yuri was with him, their hands entwined and nothing could take that from him.

Viktor leaned down and kissed Yuri on the mouth, in the presence of whoever dared to care. He ran his hand like a whisper down Yuri's cheek and chin, letting his thumb press against Yuri's Adam's apple. He felt the way it moved when Yuri took in a deep breath, the way his lips rattled against his making everything around them melt away. The loudness of the crowd, the red lights hanging above, the coldness, the pain.

Nothing mattered with Yuri.

"I can't believe we did that," Yuri breathed out against Viktor's lips. "I can't believe you did that."

"I told you I wanted to surprise you the way you surprise me."

Yuri laughed, his breath warming Viktor's cold nose. "There isn't anything you could do that wouldn't surprise me, _Vikku_."

Viktor ran his hand down to the silver medal around Yuri's neck, letting his nail drag across the surface. "I'm so proud of you."

Yuri shook his head. "Don't be proud of me, not yet. I want to win for you, I want to prove that I can do that... for you." His smile dropped a bit, and Viktor could tell there was something there that he didn't like. "I don't know what my parents are going to say."

Oh. God, Yuri's family. They never opened up about their relationship, though Viktor was never afraid to dole out physical affection to Yuri in front of them. Sometimes Yuri's mother would give him a look, something like a cross between understanding and acceptance, but that kiss on the ice... what would others think about it? Yakov was the only person whose opinion Viktor truly cared about-the rest of Russia could choke on their hatred and bigotry for all he cared. He was done hiding, done pretending to be something he wasn't.

He wanted to embrace Yuri in front of the world, never wanting to hide that love from anyone.

Yet...

He hadn't been thinking about what Yuri would feel afterward. On the ice, full of passion, the way Yuri looked up at him, Viktor had been confident in their kiss. He reveled in the way the crowd hushed, the way the ice hit his knees and the back of his hands, the way Yuri's mouth curled against his.

But, now... Did Yuri regret it?

"I'm so sorr-"

But Yuri was having none of it, and he rested his finger against Viktor's lips. How were his fingers still so warm? "I told you, you don't need to apologize to me. You don't need to. _Ever_."

Yes, those words... how many times had he heard them, now? How many times had the Japanese man in front of them repeated them like a prayer since September?

It was hard to believe what happened over the past two months, of how close they had become. From that moment in Dr. Fujimoto's office, there were no barriers between them. Whatever this feeling was between them, it only seemed to want to grow stronger and stronger. Every touch, ever sweet kiss, it acted like a reminder to Viktor. This wasn't over, there was something to live for.

He still could not silence the niggling in the back of his mind where he knew his disease hid, creeping like a monster in the night. No matter the sweetness of Yuri's lips on his, it didn't fix him.

"Viktor, I wouldn't change this for the world. Believe me," Yuri pulled away his fingers and placed a gentle kiss against Viktor's lips, one that acted like the center of gravity for Viktor to pull himself around. "Nothing."

"I know."

He wanted to believe Yuri, he really did. In some parts of him, he almost could feel like his words weren't a lie, but he was also just as convinced that Yuri knew it, too. They weren't there, not yet. Viktor didn't even know when it would feel exactly like himself, or if it was even possible.

But those moments with Yuri, the ones where the other man's guard was down and he allowed his heart to be exposed just for Viktor... those were the moments that reminded Viktor to breathe.

Yuri leaned forward and rested his forehead against Viktor's and hummed, an action that had become synonymous with comfort, especially after Yuri found out about his disease.

It had started that night, when they had slept side by side after getting back from the doctor. Viktor couldn't deny that he had been terrified to have Yuri so close to him, only thin pajamas separating the two. He hadn't even meant for Yuri to really stay, only having jokingly asking the other man.

It was the first time Yuri said yes.

He tried to hide when he woke from the shakes, his stomach feeling like someone had plunged their hand inside of him and grabbed hold of his intestines. It wasn't the first time these pains had woken him, but it was the first time Yuri had seen it, and Viktor knew the other man had been terrified. Hell, even now Viktor was terrified of it.

"What do I do?" His voice was panicked. "Do you need a doctor? Should I call the hospital?"

"It'll go away. It's normal. Side effects."

"Do you want something?"

"No."

"I can get you some water-"

"Just stop _talking_."

Viktor hadn't meant for his words to be so harsh, but they were. Even then, he knew that he had taken his pain out on Yuri. It wouldn't have surprised him if Yuri just left at that moment, but all he did was go to the bathroom and get a cold, wet towel that he used to wipe the sweat away from Viktor's face.

"Do you need medicine?"

"There's some pills... the pink ones. In my pill box."

Yuri stared around the room. "Where is it?"

Viktor remembered how he tried to smile, but he was sure it came out more as a grimace. "In the bedside drawer."

Yuri leaned over and pulled the drawer open, shuffling around the contents until he pulled out bright pink box.

"Do you really have a _Hello Kitty_ pill box?" Yuri looked up to him, his eyes furrowed. "Seriously?"

Viktor hadn't answered, instead hissing as a particularly bad cramp pulled at his stomach. It was always the worst at night; he had asked the doctor why, but Dr. Fujimoto could only tell him that it was because his body was at rest. How horrible was it that just resting sometimes caused him pain?

Yuri had fumbled for the pills and then slowly helped Viktor sit up to swallow them. He even held the water up to Viktor's lips, allowing him to greedily drink until the glass was empty.

"How long will they take to work?"

"Couple of minutes."

"Then here." It was then when Yuri gently pulled Viktor's head close, resting their foreheads together. His skin was warm and dry, a comfort that Viktor could not put words to. "Do you want to lay down?"

Viktor remembered the way Yuri slid their foreheads apart and allowed him room to turn around and lay down on his side, the other man sliding up behind him.

"You're shivering."

"Yeah... It'll pass."

The room was silent until he heard something soft humming behind him. He could feel Yuri's chest moving to the tune of something soft and sad, but when he tried to turn he found his arm wrap around him. The humming stopped.

"Sorry, I sound like a dying cat. I'm not good at singing."

"No," Viktor remembered murmuring. "I like it. Does it have words?"

"Yeah, but I don't really remember them. It's in Japanese anyway."

Viktor bit his lip to keep from making a sound as a cramp pulled at his stomach, and he was sure Yuri had noticed, too. After a moment he breathed out, "You should sing it to me."

"No, no, I'm really bad."

"Okay... another time... but you can keep humming. I like it."

And he did. The sounds felt like something in the far back of his mind, in a place where memories were hidden in the cold embrace of winter. He knew the tune was something new, but that feeling... that was what he could remember.

Viktor pretended that he fell asleep, and didn't stir when Yuri pulled away from him and crept into the bathroom. He pretended like he couldn't hear the sobbing from the other side of the door. He pretended like he didn't feel like every piece of him wanted to do nothing but break it open and just hold Yuri in his arms and lie.

He could have spun gold with his sweet lies, play coy with the spindle that made his fingertips ache. He could have woven a blanket of deception and used it as a cloak. He could promise a morning where they would lay next to one another, their hair twisted in the pillows like thread. He could promise butterfly kisses and a future he didn't fully believe in.

But Viktor couldn't even lie to himself. How did he have any right to lie to Yuri? This was terrifying, the feeling inside of him. He could barely pull himself together... how could he do it for the man who seemed a world apart, rather than just a door.

"Hey, I'm getting cold."

Viktor looked away from Yuri's eyes and nodded, pulling their heads away. He could feel that the rim of Yuri's glasses left marks on his forehead, but he couldn't be bothered to care too much. He still had his hand entwined with Yuri's, and he pulled it close, resting a kiss across his knuckles.

"Yeah, let's go back to the hotel."

Yuri looked around and scratched at the back of his head with his free hand. "I dunno where we are."

Viktor looked around the area, the celebrating Chinese family no longer crowded around them, and yeah-Yuri was right. "Me neither," he admitted, though he was pretty sure it wouldn't be too hard to find their way home. "Let's just get a taxi back."

The way back to their hotel only took a few minutes after Yuri managed to waved down a taxi and show the address of the hotel, and it was only as they entered the elevator that Viktor realized he had never bothered to let go of Yuri's hand.

" _Vikku_?"

"Hm?" Viktor hit the button for the 19th floor, a sense of deja vu washing over him. Their first kiss, in the elevator at his doctor's office in Fukuoka. It felt like years ago, instead of just a few months.

"Um. Heh. Never mind."

Viktor looked up to Yuri, whose mouth was drawn down in a pensive frown. No doubt the emotions and high of the day were starting to finally subside. He would probably fall asleep the moment his head hit the pillow.

"You must be tired."

Yuri tried to smile, that much Viktor could tell, but it felt a little flat.

"What's wrong?"

Yuri scrunched his nose and brought his empty hand to his face, adjusting his glasses. "It's nothing, Viktor. Don't worry."

But Viktor could tell there was something wrong, and with the elevator going up the floors so slowly, there was plenty of time to ask.

"Yuri, what is it? Are you hungry? We can get some room service. Or does your back hurt? I didn't mean to hit you so hard..."

Yuri shook his head, hard. "No, it isn't anything like that. I just..."

"What is it?" Viktor unthreaded their fingers and put both of his hands under Yuri's face, cupping it like a man in the desert would water. "Tell me, Yuri."

"Just... don't panic, okay?" Yuri slid his hands over Viktor's. "Tonight... I want to touch you."

Viktor's heart stopped in his chest. He tried to remove his hands from Yuri's chin but the other man clamped his hands down, locking into place.

"Yuri... we've talked about this." There was that feeling again, rearing its head back, mouth filled with venom, belly filled with tar. "I can't... I'm..."

"We talked to _Fujimoto-sensei_ , remember. He said as long as we're careful..."

"But I..."

I don't want to have sex with you.

It wasn't true. Viktor would have loved nothing more than to push Yuri onto the bed in their hotel room and allow the passion to consume them both. It wasn't so long ago, less than a year, where he would have done just that.

But things were different now.

"Look, I... I'm not saying we need to do everything." Viktor watched a trace of pink rise from around Yuri's nose and cheeks. "I just... I want to... this is embarrassing. I just want to touch you. I want to make sure..."

Viktor wasn't sure what else Yuri wanted to say as his voice faded away.

"I'm not going to leave you."

"I know that."

"You know how I feel about you."

"I know that, too."

His eyes were pleading and it was so hard to build a resolve against that face. He had already broken Yuri's heart once that day.

"Let's just get inside and we can talk about it. Okay?"

"Yeah... okay."

Viktor knew that voice, knew it was the sound of Yuri when he felt like he had given up on something. And that sound, the way his voice went flat, it pulled at Viktor. This was Yuri blaming himself, thinking that he had done something wrong.

"I'm not angry, Yuri," Viktor rubbed his finger over the tuft of hair next to the man's ear, "it's just... It's hard."

Yuri allowed his head to give a single nod. "I know. I know it's hard."

'Hard' did not begin to cover it. There wasn't a single word nor a million strung together into dozens of bound books that could explain exactly how it felt to watch as he was the cause of any kind of pain to Yuri.

"You know I love you, right?"

Viktor couldn't fight the urge to kiss Yuri then, and allowed himself to lean forward again to gently press his lips against the other. "I know, Yuri."

"Then let's not fight." Yuri smiled wide, though the smile did not meet his eyes. "After what we did today-let's..."

Let's not ruin it. Let's not taint it. Let's not destroy it.

"Let's just be happy, okay?"

The two stood on the blessedly empty elevator for a few more moments until arriving at their floor. It was a short walk to their room, and thankfully the linens were changed and new towels were set aside in the bathroom when they arrived.

"Hey, Yuri-you hungry?"

Viktor toed off his shoes and unzipped his jacket "Oh, here," he said to Yuri as he leaned over and unzipped Yuri's jacket, taking care not to let his hands linger on the other man's chest for too long. "I was thinking... Peking duck sounds go- _umph_."

Viktor stumbled backward as Yuri pushed him away and into the room, the back of his legs slamming into the corner of the bed. It was a relatively large room, so the force Yuri used had been enough to knock the breath right out of him.

Yuri didn't say anything as he walked forward, though it was clear that the sadness from just a moment before was pushed down. This was the kind of man Yuri so desperately wanted to be, it was who he allowed himself to be on the ice when he wanted others to see what he wanted them to see.

"Yuri, what are you-"

Yuri reached out and Viktor could almost see the cogs behind his eyes working, and Viktor allowed himself to fall back where Yuri pushed him. His head hit the soft mattress and his body did not fight the exhale of breath as Yuri pinned him down.

"Let's be happy... just let me kiss you."

But Yuri wasn't begging. This was something else, something wild in his eyes, in the way that he sensually pushed Viktor's arm down against the bed and allowed his chest to fall on top of his. It was in the sharp movement of Yuri's other hand ghosting through his hair and curling, a handful of silver-blond hair trapped in between his digits. It was the hard mouth and soft lips that seemed to take the place of begging.

Yuri begged for nothing. He didn't need to. Whatever he wanted, whatever he asked for, Viktor would give him.

But this... the thought terrified him.

"Yuri-"

" _Shh_ ," Yuri whispered, and for a flicker of a moment he could see the nervous Yuri crack through. "Kissing... okay?"

Viktor let out a shuddering breath and replied, "Kissing's okay."

He didn't fight the next kiss. He allowed himself to relax, even letting his tongue meet Yuri's when the man pushed his lips apart. He was painfully aware of every movement of Yuri's hand against his body, the feeling of his cock hardening. He tried to will his body to calm down, to not let Yuri feel him, but he knew it was too late when Yuri leaned against the front of his pants.

"Uun, you're warm," Yuri moaned into the shell of his ear. Viktor could feel the humid pant and if anything it only made him harder. He found himself pushing his pelvis down into the bed to try and distract himself from Yuri's wandering hands and that sensuous voice tickling a part of him that made his toes curl.

Yuri noticed and after a puzzled moment, Viktor could all but feel the smirk on Yuri's mouth against his neck. "Do you like that?"

"You-eh, know I do," Viktor breathed out, words hitched. It was hard to think when it seemed that the edges of the world were fuzzy, and he had to bite back a louder sound when Yuri leaned back to his ear, letting his tongue run up from the lobe. His entire body shook when the black-haired man began to lick, and it was hard to bite back the laughter, too.

"Wh-what?"

Viktor wanted to tell Yuri to keep going, but he couldn't get his mouth to work. All he could do was lay under an increasingly confused man as his entire body was wracked with laughter.

"Wait, you're not supposed to laugh!" Yuri grabbed him by the tie and pulled him up. "This is supposed to be sexy."

"It-it is," Viktor said just as Yuri launched himself back at his ear, and again he found himself unable to stop himself from all but giggling. "Yo-very sexy." But his words were all but indecipherable. Oh, god, it _tickled_.

"Then stop laughing!"

"You know, you're cute when you're angry."

Yuri let go of his tie and Viktor fell backward onto the bed, enjoying how flustered Yuri now looked above him.

"I'm not good at seducing."

"No, you're good at seducing," Viktor said as he ran his hands down from Yuri's chest to his hips, pulling the man straight down on him. He laid there with the other man's face pressed in the hollow of his shoulder. "It isn't your fault. I was very seduced, my little _katsudon_."

"Best _katsudon_ you ever saw?"

Yuri turned his head and breathed on his ear, making Viktor shiver again, popping his shoulder back. "One hundred percent."

"Good, I'm the only one you'll ever get, so you better love me."

"I do."

Viktor rested his hands around Yuri's waist, folding them in the crook of his back. He could feel the warmup suit's soft fabric against his fingers. He drummed the tips of his fingers to a tune he did not know, and only stopped when Yuri rolled off him onto the mattress next to him.

"Let's stay like this," Yuri muttered.

"For how long?"

"I dunno... forever?"

They laid there on the bed, soaking in each other's warmth, until their stomachs growling became too much for Viktor to ignore, and he pulled his arms away from Yuri, already missing the radiating heat.

"Go take a shower, I'll order room service, yeah?"

While Yuri showered, Viktor called the reception, thankful for the English concierge who was able to take his order with no problems. He ordered a feast of Peking duck and sweet sauces, Gangou potatoes that overflowed over the bowl with caramelized onions, and half a dozen plates of vegetables he knew would be delicious just by looking at the pictures in the menu.

Delivery was fast, even before Yuri got out of the bathroom, and Viktor was even happier when he opened the door to find the bellhop with a bottle of champagne as well as a plate of chocolate-covered pineapple and cream.

"A gift, from a Mr. Giacometti," the Chinese man said as he pushed the trays into the room, making sure to avoid the open suitcase near the bed. "There is a letter."

Viktor pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed before he smiled ruefully. Of course Christophe would send something; it was exactly like him. While Viktor knew it to be part of Christophe's teasing charm, he wasn't sure what Yuri would think about it.

There were always rumors running rampant about the relationship Viktor and Christophe had over the years. When they were kids they fooled around, even sneaking a few kisses in locker rooms after competitions, but Viktor never took the other man to bed. The ice was meant to be his escape from the real world-it would be exactly the opposite if he began to fuck his competition.

He didn't want Yuri to get the wrong impression.

Viktor tipped the man some of the bills he had in his wallet, unsure of the amount but thinking it was enough. He also accepted the letter, noting the curled and looped letters and the little C scrawled across the lip of the envelope. There was a strange weight to the envelope, so he made sure to take care when he broke the seal.

 _Enjoy this like you enjoy him._

 _~Christophe_

It took everything in Viktor to not roll his eyes into the back of his head when he looked at the envelope and saw half a dozen condoms.

Couldn't they just give him a damn break?

Viktor heard the bathroom door open and Yuri come out, the steam wafting through the room, making little heads of condensation on the mirror near the door. He was wearing a pair of boxers and only a thin, slightly damp gray shirt.

No one was giving him a break.

"You bruised my ass." Yuri was busy toweling his hair, so he didn't see Viktor nearly choke.

It took a moment for the realization to kick in. "Oh, the ice. I am sorry, Yuri. Do you want me to get you something for the pain?" He shoved the letter under the hotel's binder, turning to look at the man behind him again.

Yuri shook his head and sat on the corner of the mattress, folding his feet under him. "Nah, it's okay. I have some cold pads I can put on later." He folded the towel and lightly tossed it onto his luggage. "Ooh, dinner. Did you get the Peking duck?"

"Yeah, and some other stuff. Christophe sent you some pineapple."

Yuri leaned back on his hands. "Oh... um... that's really nice of him."

For a moment the man went silent, but Viktor knew he wasn't done. "Christophe... he said some stuff. The other day, before the competition... said it wasn't right for me to steal you away from everyone else." Yuri looked up at him, the water from his shower dribbling down the side of his neck. There it was, the hint of the nervous Yuri again.

"Yuri, you can't steal what is freely given."

"I'm happy he thinks I stole you. Pass the duck?"

Viktor could only smile at Yuri albeit a puzzled smile. "Yeah, of course."

That was all Yuri wanted to say? Though a generous number of his lovers only lasted for a brief, explosive moment, Viktor was still woefully ignorant of the idea of a romance that wasn't destructive. Imani, despite her beauty, had burned everything Viktor had to the ground. He had rebuilt from the ash, stronger and wiser, or so he believed.

Then Mikael came along. If Imani was destructive, Mikael was the meteor barreling toward the earth.

Forget devastation, it was _annihilation_.

"Are you sure you are okay, Yuri?"

"I dunno. I'm trying to not let it make me sad or angry. They don't know you like I do, so they don't see it."

"See what?"

"That you aren't their toy."

Viktor couldn't take his eyes off of Yuri in that moment.

"What I mean is... they all look at you like I used to. They don't see your pain. They don't see your choices... So, it makes sense that they think I stole you away." Yuri reached over and plucked up a piece of pineapple and shoved half of it into his mouth, leaving a drop of chocolate on the corner of his lips. He chewed and swallowed, then looked down at the piece left between his fingers. "And I know why you left... so, yeah. I am okay with their conclusions. I'd rather them stare at me than at you."

"Yuri..."

Yuri popped the remaining pineapple into his mouth, ending the conversation with a smack of his lips. "So, let's eat."

They sat in the simple silence of the room as they ate, only sharing a few comments and questions, most of the sound being the scraping of chopsticks against plates or chewing. At some point Yuri turned on the television to a show they couldn't understand, but the people were lively and the music was loud and happy enough. They talked about little things, making stories up of the people on the screen, wondering if what they said had anything to do with reality.

So much of their lives was in the media, and yet as they nestled up in bed, sliding into place like a puzzle, no one could see them. There were no witnesses to the way Viktor slid his leg between Yuri's and made himself comfortable. His feet were always cold and Yuri was so warm, and Yuri never complained about the way he would rub the top of his foot against his soft skin, enjoying the prickle of hair.

Viktor found his mind wandering as he pulled Yuri closer, smelling the hotel shampoo and clean skin.

"When we go to Russia, I want you to come with me to St. Petersburg. I want you to meet my parents."

For a moment Viktor was almost sure that Yuri was asleep. He must have been so tired; after the competition, after running, after barely getting a moment of sleep the night before. Yet, when he spoke the Japanese man turned and rested their foreheads together.

"Are... are you sure?"

Everyone knew about Viktor's family. From what Viktor could get Minako to admit to, Yuri had been his fan for his entire skating career. Yuri's mother had even once shown Viktor a few of the magazines Yuri had in English, Japanese, and Russian, the corners of the pages rubbed clear of the ink, the tips of Yuri's fingertips making the pages shiny. There were indecipherable phrases scribbled on sticky notes in a strange mix of what looked to be gibberish. It has been endearing-how much Russian did Yuri teach himself just to understand his idol? How many articles had he stared at until the letters on the page began to make sense?

It made Viktor envious at first and then so humbled, to know he had been the spark to such talent. He never had someone to look up to the way Yuri had him. His only goal was to make Yakov proud of him, to skate to the memory of those sunny mornings and the taste of soft cheese and jam on his tongue. He became who he became because he had nothing to look to. If he had someone like Yuri as a child, things would have been different.

So different.

"Yeah. I think they'd like it."

* * *

The next morning they spent in bed until the sun rose well into the sky and not even the thick sun curtains could block out all of the light. It was quiet except for the sound of the television running in the background, barely audible over the whirring of the heater. He was warm and comfortable, and Viktor never wanted to get up from bed. His chest was pressed against Yuri, his arm under the other man's head. He could feel the tell-tale prickling of a sleeping limb, but he didn't want to wake Yuri from his slumber.

He looked so peaceful, the stress of the competition melting like a light snow. Viktor was used to the cold and unforgiving Russian winter that burrowed into your bones with the chill of November. Yet, here he was in November, and here were his bones.

And here was Yuri.

Viktor looked at clock and slowly, ever so slowly, removed his hand. He bent each finger, wincing as the blood returned and the comfortable numbness became a pinch.

It was almost 1 in the afternoon and he hadn't taken his medicine.

Logically, Viktor knew that an hour or two wouldn't affect him, but it didn't mean that the fact that his phone hadn't gone off made him feel like his stomach was in his throat. He was never late for his pills.

He looked around the room, to the table where he knew he had left his phone, and quickly snatched it up as he slowly disengaged his feet from Yuri's legs. Yuri only made a small sound, a cross between a sigh and a snore, and rolled over, covering his head with his arm.

Viktor clicked the home button once, then again and again. _Shit_.

Things were so hectic the night before, he hadn't bothered to plug in the phone. It was good, at least they had a decent amount of time left before they had to catch their flight at five. It was surprising that the staff hadn't come to wake them up, though-there was no way they weren't going to get charged out of the nose for the late checkout.

Viktor pushed himself out of the bed and to where he thought he left the phone charger, yawning and stretching his hands over his head until he heard something pop in his spine. The tingling in his hand was biting, but was fading fast.

He fumbled for the charger and slide the cord into his phone, tossing it back on his clothes as he pulled out his _Hello Kitty_ pill box.

Yuri made fun of it only the once, but after he started to add little ridiculous touches. There were _purikura_ , little sticky pictures, stuck to the side, Viktor's favorite being the one where he and Yuri had drawn on it. Yuri was a little too plain with his decorations, while Viktor couldn't entirely figure out how to make the machine work, even if it was in a mix of English and Japanese. He ended up with some crazy things on the picture he couldn't figure out how to remove.

Still, the whiskers on their noses and the horribly drawn hearts and his attempt at Yuri's hiragana name had taken up all of the bottom. It was a splash of neon and hilarity that made Viktor smile at that moment of the day when he needed it the most.

Viktor looked over each pill. Only 4, now. The doctor said if he kept it up, if his body accepted the drugs, he had the chance to get it down to even less. Some people were able to be totally fine with only one pill. The drugs were so much better than he had thought they would be... even though the side effects still made Viktor cringe at night when his stomach would flip against him.

But it was only sometimes, and it was the price to pay.

Viktor grabbed a bottle of water from the the rolling tray from the night before and sat on the corner of the bed. He laid the pill box in his lap and flipped the top open again, slowly feeding the pills into his mouth. He quickly unscrewed the cap on the water bottle and took a big swig of water, throwing his head back to make sure each pill went down. Once, and only once, he hadn't been careful. He could taste the medicine on the back of his tongue like battery acid for two days.

He made sure to drink the bottle until it was empty then tossed it onto the moving tray, then moved the pill box to the side. He was careful to listen for the tell-tale click, signifying the box was locked.

He could sense Yuri behind him before the man wrapped him in his arms and pulled him backward, back into the warmth of the bed.

"Aren't you tired?"

"Hmm. A little."

Yuri was still half under the blankets, but Viktor was certain he could feel something pressing up against him where he landed.

"That doesn't seem to be tired."

A red flush made its way up to Yuri's cheeks, and though he shook his head in such a way Viktor knew he was just a touch embarrassed, the man did not shy away from Viktor's touch.

"I'll go take care of it."

"Wait... Yuri."

It was a tentative touch, at first. Viktor felt the weight of his hand against the blankets and the knowledge of what lay just under the fabric. His hand was heavy again, like it had when it was asleep, and Viktor wished he could say that it was asleep and would wake again soon enough to remind itself what it was doing was wrong.

Yet, the close his hand became to Yuri's skin, the more emboldened it became.

This couldn't go too far. There was a limit, a barrier.

The line in the sand.

He crossed it.

"Yuri," Viktor said, wishing his words held more of a warning, instead of a whimper. "I... Is it okay if I take care of you?" His hand rested on Yuri's hip, at the edge of his shirt and underwear. Pink, tiny marks ran across the skin, and he wanted nothing more than to kiss them.

If Yuri had been tired before, the way his eyes widened made certain to Viktor that he was now painfully awake.

"Viktor... _Vikku_..."

Swallowing made his mouth drier, but it was nothing compared to the way Yuri looked. A fish without water, maybe.

Yuri didn't say anything, because he didn't need to. With just his eyes, Viktor knew the answer.

"Tell me to stop and I will."

"Don't."

Yuri was a virgin. It was something he and Viktor talked about at length, though Viktor thought at that moment nothing would ever come of what was happening between them.

Viktor lost his virginity when he was only sixteen to a pretty singles figure skater a few years older, who had eyed him the entirety of his first Grand Prix event. He hadn't won that even, only medalling a bronze, but had gained more in sheer experience. There was a first time for everything.

The first time he felt another man's cock he was eighteen and drunk on a win in Rome. He caught the eye of a handsome tourist somewhere between his hotel and the club, and then fucked between the buildings. Viktor still remembered the feeling of the cold brick on his cheek as the man spread him wide and the euphoria of the dancing and the skating and the drinking.

It didn't hurt _much_.

But Viktor knew that this was different. There would be no fucking against a dingy club at two in the morning with his pants pulled down to his ankles.

Viktor was a selfish lover, that much he knew. While mutual pleasure was important, Viktor always came. His lover always wanted to please him and he never said no, so when Yuri reached down to try and pull at the waistband of his underwear, he was surprised that he said no.

"This is for you. Just you."

Viktor hooked his fingers in the waistband of Yuri's underwear and gently nudged them down, the dampness from the heat and excitement already leaving its mark. Viktor had seen Yuri naked before, but had never seem him like this, with his eyes clamped shut and his hands shaking. Even in those moments where they were on the rink, where Yuri was terrified, when Yuri was furious, when Yuri was joyous... they paled in this moment.

He took Yuri into his mouth slowly, letting his fingers stroke over the hipbones like he was a blind man finally understanding the bumps for words. He was reading something more than a romance; this was something so human, so heartbreakingly, heart-achingly beautiful. When Yuri ran his hands through his hair, he almost came undone.

Yuri didn't last very long, his hips bucking wildly in a confusing and distorted rhythm Viktor had all but forgotten. When the sticky warm fluid hit the back of his throat, he involuntarily gagged, pulling away from Yuri with a pop, cum spilling out of his mouth as he choked.

"I-I-" Yuri stammered, his breath leaving in sharp, pointed breaths. His body was still reacting to his orgasm, yet he grabbed for Viktor.

Viktor fumbled for the bed sheet and spit out the cum and his own saliva, staring down in abject horror. He knew it was Yuri, it was Yuri.

Yuri, Yuri, Yuri.

 _Drip. Drip. Drip._

"Breathe."

Viktor felt Yuri's sweaty body pulling him close, and Viktor allowed himself to rest his head against Yuri's shoulder. Oh, god, he could feel his stomach churning and it wasn't fair, it wasn't right.

Yuri hadn't done anything wrong.

"I should have warned you," Yuri whispered against his hair. "I'm sorry, I messed up."

 _No, no, no._

 _"Shhh, shhhh. Vikku, daijoubu da yo. Shhhhhh."_

What happened?

Viktor fought the feeling in his stomach, the urge to vomit his medicine right back up. It had to be that, right? The medicine, on an empty stomach... he should have eaten something, he should have remembered how important it was...

But he knew there was more to it than that.

"I'm sorry, Yuri," Viktor breathed, feeling his sticky head against Yuri's shirt. "It was... too much."

It was too much. It was too much, too fast, and he had known it from the beginning. He wanted to be able to prove to himself that he was fixed, that with the medicine working things would be exactly like they were before, but it wasn't.

It wasn't fair.

Viktor tried to pull away, but Yuri tightened his arms.

"No, Viktor. No running."

Viktor struggled for a moment before relenting, slamming his hand down on the sheets. Why had this happened to him? ?

 _ **Oh, for not the dead shall praise thee, O Lord, neither shall they who are in Hell make bold to offer unto thee confession.**_

"Fuck!"

"Shhh, Viktor, it's okay. I know."

Rage.

Pure, white hot fury. Why couldn't he make love to his boyfriend? Why was it that the act of something he had done so many times, the taste of Yuri on his tongue sent him into a panic? How could it be that the most natural thing, taking comfort in another, made Viktor's heart race and his stomach bubble and froth.

There were even condoms on the desk. When was the last time Viktor used a condom? He couldn't even remember. No wonder he ended up with HIV, thinking he would rule the world and nothing would ever stop him.

He knew what Doctor Fujimoto or Doctor Marks or even Yuri would say. ' _It is a virus. It didn't chose you, it didn't seek you out. You were just unlucky._ '

No, he was stupid and selfish. He always had been, and would probably always would be.

"I remember the words. To the song. I remember them. Do you want to hear?"

Yuri's voice was breathy, clearly unused to singing, but just listening to the other man's voice helped calm him. Viktor didn't understand a single word of what Yuri was saying, but like any lullaby he could feel it, soft like snow.

Yuri repeated it until Viktor was sure he could repeat bits and pieces on his own, until he was sure Yuri's mouth was dry.

Viktor let Yuri rock him until the panic subsided, and they only moved when the phone rang.

"I'll get it." Yuri pulled away from Viktor and leaned over to grab the phone. "Hi, yeah. Oh. Okay. Could you call a cab? Thank you, that sounds fine. Mmhmm." Yuri put his hand on his head, forcing his hair back. He wasn't wearing glasses, and Viktor looked around the room for them. Where were they?

Oh, on the bedside table. He leaned forward and picked them up, carefully holding them out to Yuri, who gave him a brief smile as he put them on.

"An hour? And can you get someone to... oh, he did? Oh. Okay. Thank you." Yuri hung up the phone.

"We have an hour?"

Yuri nodded. "She said the press is camped outside the hotel. Your old coach is calling a press conference... maybe it will occupy them?"

"Yakov called a press conference? On what?"

Yuri shrugged. "I dunno. She didn't say."

Maybe Yakov wanted to say something about Georgi. It would make sense- after his loss, Georgi no doubt would be on the warpath to win the Russian Nationals in the winter. He would doubtlessly want to show it to Anya. Oh, poor Georgi. He never did seem to learn.

"Our kiss... we shocked a lot of people. Of course they are in front of the hotel. I'm surprised we managed to get back in without seeing them." Viktor hadn't seen a single reporter in the lobby the night before... it was a blessing. It must have taken a bit of time for the vultures to figure out what hotel they were staying at.

"Did you forget to charge your phone?"

"Yeah. You?"

"I was... I didn't set an alarm last night."

Viktor huffed out a slight chortle. It felt... normal. It felt good. "My fault."

"Yeah, you're right. It is your fault." Yuri pushed his glasses up and smiled, albeit more shyly than Viktor expected. "Um... I'm sorry I didn't warn you."

"It's okay, I didn't think that would happen." Viktor made sure not to look at the stain on the sheets; the poor maid. He would have aimed for a tissue had he been more in a right state of mind. "we know for next time."

"Next time?"

"We'll go slower next time."

It was the truth. Bringing Yuri pleasure, that meant something to him. Even though he hadn't gotten off, it really hadn't mattered. Knowing that he brought Yuri to feel that, it was good enough for him. But it would be slow. Baby steps.

"Before... you know, that... was it okay?"

Viktor didn't want the unsureness to leak into his words, but he was sure Yuri would notice. Yuri noticed everything.

"It was more than okay, Viktor." Yuri reached over and kissed Viktor's forehead. "The best I ever had."

"The only you've ever had."

"True, but still definitely the number one."

It was sweet, the way Yuri comforted him. When they began this relationship, Viktor remembered how nervous they both were. Things were out in the open and yet despite everything that happened, they just clicked right into place, the perfect match.

"Do I get a gold medal for that?"

"Maybe."

* * *

Thankfully, whatever Yakov did worked because most of the reporters were already gone by the time they made it out of their hotel room. The trip to the airport was blessedly silent, the two of them sitting in the back of the green and yellow taxi. The driver spoke no English and only played cheesy Chinese pop on the radio, but it was blessedly relaxing, otherwise.

Check in was simple enough, and the Chinese police were there to herd back some of the newscasters. Viktor was surprised by that- had their kiss really caused that much chaos? He remembered past exploits that got caught in the crossfire of the paparazzi and while he couldn't say they were fun it wasn't anything like this.

"Just ignore it, Yuri. We did nothing wrong." Viktor put on his sunglasses and grabbed Yuri's hand, laying a kiss on the top of his knuckles before waving at the cameras. "Just smile and wave."

Yuri stood a little more rigid than he could have, but this was his first true foray into the terrifying world of being with a celebrity... No, _being_ a celebrity. The Japanese media mostly left Yuri to his own devices, understanding that the man was withdrawn on the best of days. After spending his entire career happily hidden away from sight, the last few months had been hard.

Things would be harder now, no doubt.

But Viktor had no intentions on letting it stop him from _living_.

That morning, or afternoon, with Yuri, Viktor knew it was like ripping off the band-aid. Kamkin... Kamkin had done enough damage to last a lifetime. Logically, he could understand where the doctor was coming from. Turning off his emotions, allowing himself to be controlled only by the facts, HIV was still deadly. Kamkin knew that, dealt with that fact for the last twenty years of his career.

But, so had Viktor. His parents were barely his age when they died.

After what Yakov told him, Viktor contacted several people, including some of the doctors who treated his mama and papa in their final days. Blessedly, Viktor did not remember them ill-he could only remember their cold skin after death, when they became waxy and cold. His mother was only ill for a few weeks before her death, and his father went soon after. The doctors remembered them well enough; such a lively couple that died so suddenly and tragically... the little boy in the waiting room with his figure skating coach...

There was no exact details of their illness, but of course the doctors assumed it was AIDS. In the West there were tests available but they were expensive and difficult to find, and right after the fall of the Soviet Union they were still denying the existence of the disease in the country. Two relatively well-known Soviet skaters who were married with a young child? A mother who quit her blossoming skating career to stay with her son? A man who would pick up his wife and swing her in his arms until they fell into a heap of laughter and limbs?

 _Only homosexuals with their wrists limp or drug addicts got AIDS_ , one nurse told him. It had made Viktor's mouth drop open with her bluntness. Before that moment, she was nothing but a sweet, almost matronly woman with chubby cheeks and laugh lines around her mouth. She could have been his grandmother.

Kamkin was like that, cut from the same white cloth that promised the end before it was written.

Still, those words, they haunted Viktor. Sometimes when he was in the shower or eating dinner or even watching Yuri, he could almost hear the doctor whispering in his ear. It was almost a year and still, Viktor could not shake off the panic and loathing and disgust whenever he thought of his disease. The act of pleasing Yuri, something that felt so right, ended up tainted because of those fears.

He knew it wasn't okay, but Viktor didn't know what he could do about it.

Kamkin was just like the reporters and photographers-they knew what they expected and they went right for his throat to get it. They had their own set beliefs, an unshakable image of who Viktor Nikiforov was. If they needed to break Viktor into pieces, shove them into places they didn't fit, then so be it.

He was a pawn in their narrative.

And he had dragged Yuri right into the middle of it.

But Yuri told him not to apologize. He was not ashamed of their love, he was not going to dismiss Viktor. He was not going to fall into the traps laid out in front of them like a red carpet.

They managed to get onto the plane with little fanfare, the two of them the only people in First Class. Unfortunately, or fortunately in their face, the flight was pushed back several hours. Many of the passengers instead were transferred to different flights.

They were lucky; the five hour direct flight was spent just talking, occasionally flipping through the movie channels. At one point Yuri tried to get Viktor to watch a cooking show, but it only ended when Viktor admitted that his cooking skills began and ended with the action of boiling water.

"Don't let my mother hear that."

"Will she kill me?"

"No, she'll chain you to the kitchen chair and make you learn. She did it with Mari and I."

It didn't sound that bad. Mrs. Katsuki was such a lovely woman... and having her teach him anything would have been nice. Viktor imagined his own mom would have done the same, had she lived longer... she never would have let him go twenty seven years without figuring out how to make something in the kitchen without needing to call the fire department or poison control.

By the time they arrived back in Japan, it was well past two in the morning.

No one would be waiting for them other than a taxi to take them to a hotel for the night. They would make the trip back to Hasetsu in the morning, once the trains were running again.

They were wrong.

The sheer number of reporters waiting for them at the entrance even made Viktor pause. Of course the kiss would have made the news, even some international news agencies, but the entire floor of the Fukuoka Airport?

Viktor looked through the clear sliding doors that opened every time someone passed by. The press were rounded off, but still it took up so much space. There must have been at least a hundred reporters outside.

"You said just ignore it, right?"

Viktor turned to look at Yuri. The Japanese man stood with one arm protectively over his chest, the other resting on the handle of his luggage.

"Yeah, I said ignore it."

Yuri took in a deep breath. "Okay, if you say so, Viktor."

But there was something else here, something different. It was two in the morning, the very last flight of the night. It wasn't even supposed to be so late... And they waited? There was a story, sure, but a story worth hounding two ice skaters at two in the morning in an airport?

There was something _wrong_.

Viktor felt it in his gut.

There was something seriously, seriously **_wrong_**.

Viktor looked over to Yuri, who was slowly pulling his hand away from his stomach, shyly waving at the reporters on the other side. The black-haired man was trying to smile, but all it looked like was a wince.

"Yuri... I have a bad feeling about this."

Yuri looked over, a small bead of sweat working it way down his hairline. "I thought you said this was normal?"

"I've never seen it like this before."

Even when things happened with Mikael and Imani, it had been only a fraction of reporters.

"I don't think this has to do with our kiss."

Viktor shared a look with Yuri and they both went for their cell phones.

They tried so hard to not use them in China, with the fees being so expensive. Disconnecting from the internet, allowing them the chance to just be together and to focus on the competition. No distractions.

What the fuck **_happened_**?

Viktor turned off airplane mode and waited as his phone connected. He heard Yuri make some kind of noise that reminded Viktor of a wounded dog trying to gnaw off its own paw.

When the message popped up of over a thousand missed phone calls, Viktor knew.

He knew.

"Yuri..."

" _Vikku_. Oh my god."

Viktor didn't click on any of the messages in his email, instead clicking the green phone icon. The first number on the list was Yakov. Of course it was Yakov...

183 missed calls from Yakov alone.

"Yuri..."

The entire world seemed to spin and Viktor wasn't sure what was up or down, left from right. All he could see was the thousand missed phone calls and the photographers lined up like tin soldiers in front of him.

An army.

It was an army.

And he was the enemy.

They _knew_.

"Viktor! Viktor!"

Numb.

Like an arm slept on for too long.

How had he ended up on the floor? Why were the flashing lights getting brighter-oh. They must have seen. Were they trying to break the barrier down?

He could hear them, now that they were closer. There was security, but not enough. Most of the airport was closed.

People went home. They had their own lives.

It was 2 in the morning.

"Viktor- is it true you have AIDS?"

"How long have you known you have AIDS?"

"Were you going to keep this from your lovers?"

"-Viktor, stand up. You're heavy. I can't carry you-"

 _Flash._

"Is it true Imani Botha infected you?"

"Natalya Loskov said you gave HIV to her husband- is it true?"

"Get away! Stop it!"

 _Flash. Flash._

Something was pulling him.

Where was his phone?

"The Russian Federation is considering charges under article 122- what will you do?"

"Yuri- Do you have AIDS?"

"Did you tell Katsuki-kun you have HIV?"

 _Flash._

" _Vikku, Vikku_ , look at me. **_GET THAT THING OUT OF MY FACE._** "

"Did you give AIDS to Mikael Loskov, Viktor?"

"Viktor, is it true the Figure Skating Federation of Russia is going to strip you of your medals and titles?"

His hand hurt.

"Oh my god, he's bleeding-move out of the way! Get away from us! Viktor! _Keibiin_! _Keibiin_!"

 _Flash_.

Cold air and rain.

Blood on the ground.

Oh. There was his phone.

 _Drip. Drip. Drip._

"Get in the car. Viktor-get in the car! Drive!"

"Viktor, let go of the phone. We need to go to the hospital."

"Viktor. It's okay. I promise."

But it wasn't okay, was it?

"Viktor, please say something."

What was there to say, now?

"I'm here. I'm not leaving."

"Viktor... please."

"Please."

* * *

 **Notes:** Remember, please do not panic.

The media is, and will forever, sensationalize things. They want their clickbait, they crave the attention. Think of how some of the media and tabloids react when things happen in the real world-they are like vultures. It is horrific and incredibly damaging to be the one on the receiving end of a hundred clicking cameras. Viktor is used to them, but not like this. His HIV status being thrown into the public spotlight will clearly have a massive effect not only on him, but on Yuri as well. (Clearly you can see my opinion on gossip magazines and paparazzi. Sorry.)

Takeda No Komoriuta is the song that Yuri sings to Viktor. It is a common cradle song in Japan, more common closer to Kyoto. However, it can be heard all across Japan and is sung to countless children. It is devastatingly beautiful and tragic, as many lullabies are. The song is known as a symbol of the Burakumin people of Japan, a social caste of people who were involved in jobs that most considered disgusting and filthy to the soul- those who dealt with death and disease. They have been long-considered to be "untouchable" in society, and thus there is still a stigma in regards to their treatment.

I recommend checking out my story on AO3 to see all of the links.

Today, due to the particular information covered in the story, it is mostly about emotions and thus doesn't have as many links to look through. I recommend these ones, as it is about serodiscordant couples (This means a relationship where one person is HIV+ and the other is HIV-.) Three is also a really interesting podcast with Peter Staley, who I got to meet once. He is a brilliant and brave man who dedicated his live to HIV/AIDS activism. If you ever have some time, I recommend watching the documentary "How to Survive a Plague" which is a look into some of the earliest HIV/AIDS activism in America.

 **Please Review!**


	5. Chapter 5

Author Notes: This is where there is more canon divergence. I mean, I have been pretty much following the setup from the anime in regards to the timeline, however this chapter is no longer following the canon. Makkachin listened to Viktor and opted not to break the poor man any more than he already was.

No, I just decide to break them in different ways.

You'll see the chapter count changed again. You can blame Yurio for this. I should have never put the chapter thing on the bottom, because now I feel like I'm just confusing you all whenever I change it. It went from 3 to 4 to 6, and is now 8. Just... I hope not to disappoint you guys. That is my main concern, and not making it longer would mean that the story wouldn't be finished the way I want it to be.

ALSO: If anyone knows any Russian and could look into a few things for me, I would greatly appreciate it. I have been trying to find the laws in regards to medical information being released by the press, and how illegal it would be in Russia. I can't seem to find that. Also, are there any laws on the books about paparazzi?

Please note that all of the links can be found on my AO3 copy of this chapter.

* * *

"Okay. We can do this."

Viktor wanted to believe Yuri, he truly did, but as they stood in the entrance hall of the inn, a sudden inexplicable feeling of dread reached right into Viktor's belly and it was hard to move.

These two weeks...

Never had two weeks lasted so long. Even curled up on the floor in his St. Petersburg apartment by himself after his diagnosis had been tempered by the pneumonia, and for that Viktor had been grateful. Losing time had been normal at that point and thankfully he was able to live in the drug and shock induced fever dream of those first few weeks.

The last two weeks in Japan were so far from that it made Viktor's hands begin to sweat even at the mention of the press. Whenever someone in the house so much as opened the front door to the never-ending onslaught of reporters, Viktor could feel the panic rising up inside of him. He tried to leave the house only once, to go down to Ice Castle Hasetsu, but barely made it a meter out the front door before the cameras were flashing and Yuri's mother pulled his shell-shocked body from the front door, barricading herself in front of it.

"No. No good."

It was the first words she said to him in days, though Viktor wasn't sure if it was because she hadn't tried or he hadn't wanted to listen.

There weren't any customers, not since Yuri dragged Viktor into the inn after the hospital was done with him. Twelve stitches in his hand and no phone... the loss of his phone was both a comfort and a terrifying moment of disconnect. No way for anyone to contact him, yet... no way from him to contact anyone, either. His new phone still sat in its shiny shrink-wrapped box, the plastic worn from the number of times Viktor rubbed his nail against it, enjoying the feeling of the plastic bunching and pulling.

There was no way of knowing what went on outside of the inn, just the knowledge that no one came in and no one left other than Yuri or his sister, Mari.

Yuri joked that it was because Mari was the only person who could clear out the press situated outside the front door, though his mouth was still twisted down into a deep frown when he said it. His words were tinged with a sour bite.

"She scares them, I think," Yuri joked as he pulled on another pair of socks. It was beginning to get cold and it rained for a week straight, ever since they had arrived back. Viktor hadn't seen the sun since it peaked its way in through the sun curtains in their hotel room in Beijing.

It was like an omen.

If he closed his eyes he could still see the soft light reflecting on Yuri's hair and the soft flesh of his thighs. He could feel Yuri's fingers carded through his hair and the sweet pants like a song rising from Yuri's mouth. It was before everything went to hell... It was a moment he clung to when the rest of the world was so cold and lifeless.

Yuri's parents... they kept their distance. Viktor knew they meant no outright harm by it; Yuri outright refused to talk about it and the few times Mari was alone with him she would offer him a cigarette and just sit with him in the silence of the dining room until one of them would break.

Mari's English was good; not as good as Yuri's, but good enough for Viktor to understand.

"They're just scared."

"Your parents?"

"Everyone. "

"Are you scared?"

Mari tapped her cigarette on the overflowing ashtray in the center of the table before putting it to her lips, taking a deep drag. She raised both her hands, flinging them down around her like a ballerina taking a bow. "I'm scared of them. Not you."

The empty room.

At first, Viktor assumed that it as the reporters, chasing off all of the potential customers, but he knew it was more than that when every time he entered the room the conversation died. Even though he could only understand a few words in Japanese, he was able to understand enough to know that the topic was him... him and his disease.

After all, who would want to bathe in the same place a man with HIV bathed? Was it even sanitary anymore? Could they get it from being too close to him...?

Had he killed their business?

Everything circled back to him and his monster.

"Do you want me to leave?"

Mari shook her head, resting her elbows on the table. "No. Neither do my parents. They... this is different for them."

Viktor knew that. He knew it from the moment Yuri's mother stared at him when he and Yuri arrived after the hospital. They were able to get there well into the morning, mostly to avoid the chance of any of the reporters having followed them there. He couldn't remember much of the trip, but he did know that Yuri never left his side.

And... he remembered her eyes.

So much pain, so much fear.

When they got home, back to Hasetsu, it was an unspoken agreement that no one mentioned that Yuri had all but moved into Viktor's room. No one even knocked on their door to tell them when dinner was ready or to ask if they needed anything. It was just their own little world, where they could only hear the reporters pitched outside the hotspring inn if they listened too closely when the cold November wind blew through the house.

"I'm bad for business."

Mari scrunched her face, and for a moment it was so like Yuri it took away his breath. She was so much like him, or rather he was so much like her... It was difficult to usually tell, but with such a little movement he could see how truly alike the two were. It was rare, but it was there.

"They're stupid and when it all calms down it will go back to normal. Don't beat yourself up about it."

Viktor looked at the woman; he studied the way she had her feet folded under her, how she leaned on her elbow and allowed the smoke to curl around her head like a halo. How much older was she than Yuri? They lived together under the same roof for months, but Viktor had been so preoccupied about Yuri and himself, in his secret shame, that he never truly bothered to find out more about Yuri's sister.

She never offered, and Viktor never asked.

"I'm sorry they dragged in your family. I... I never wanted this..."

It was the truth. No matter how much he loved Yuri, had he known for a single moment that he would so utterly destroy the man's family and their lives, he would have never left Russia. He would have gladly rotted in his apartment in St. Petersburg than for even a moment think of purposely causing harm to the Katsuki family. Despite the language barrier, despite how little they knew of one another, they had become his own family over the last few months.

And more than that, they were Yuri's people. They were the ones who raised him, loved him, nourished and supported him even when they did not understand him. They never gave up on him and never let him give up on himself.

Viktor owed them a debt no man could ever pay. They gave him Yuri, and there was no higher an honor or gift.

Even if they hated him.

"She doesn't know how to say it, but she's sorry."

Viktor swallowed sharply.

The words stabbed at something that made Viktor ache for the comfort of his mama's arms. He had grown up without that kind of physical warmth after his parents death. Though Yakov did his best, he could never be considered an affectionate man. Lilia, for all of her beauty and grace and the ability to turn even the most errant of child into a delicate blossom, was never able to truly comprehend motherhood.

He never blamed them. They did their best in raising him the only way they knew how.

"She didn't mean to. She didn't know."

Yuri's mother was the same. She was doing her best in the only way she knew how.

"Well, she should have."

Mari was more angry about the incident than Viktor was; if he were honest, Yuri's mother's reaction had been so tame in comparison to what could have happened. She hadn't kicked him out of their home, hadn't threatened him, hadn't even whispered a word against him.

And it only happened once. Just once.

The disposable bowls, plates, and drinking cups. The cheap wooden chopsticks.

It only stung a little, just a little.

It was the first meal with the Katsuki family after arriving back and feeling up to leaving the bedroom he and Yuri sequestered themselves in. It was supposed to be a celebration, but to Viktor it felt more like a funeral. No one smiled or did more than stare at the bowls in front of them, and Viktor could admit he hadn't even noticed anything was wrong until he picked up the chopsticks.

They were not the smooth, sleek black lacquered ones in Yuri's hand, like the ones he had eaten with every day since his arrival at the inn. No; they were the kind that the wood snapped straight up the middle, leaving splinters to catch on unsuspecting fingers.

Not even the katsudon piled high on soft, steaming rice could make Viktor want to eat it, especially when he could see the cheap plastic bending under the weight of the food.

Yuri... he never had seen Yuri so angry.

He never wanted to see Yuri angry again.

Yuri, for all his mild-mannered temper, was worse than Imani on her worst days. While that woman could destroy a man with a single sentence, Yuri could do it with only a look.

"My mom... did you know she was a dancer?"

Viktor hadn't known, but it wasn't all that surprising. He knew that Mari danced when she was younger, though he never asked her why she stopped. The pictures lining the walls told stories of a time when the Katsuki children were young and free, joy spread across their faces as they danced or, in Yuri's case, skated. Viktor's favorite was always the one near the front door, hung with expert care over a set of small gold trophies. He knew the kanji now, knew it to be Yuri's name and the other Mari's, but the picture would have told him all he needed to know.

It was a sliver of time cut out and pressed behind glass.

Yuri could have only been five or six, his ruddy cheeks full excitement as he held up his little trophy, an identical one in his sister's hand. Mrs. Katsuki was squeezed between the two, holding up their small hands as she smiled. It was the smile she had given her son, the smile he had fallen in love with over and over again over the past several months.

Mari continued without pause, "Yeah. She and Minako-sensei, they were Hasetsu's best ballerinas. I know she doesn't look it, but Minako-sensei is older than my mom. They traveled together and lived in New York. My mom was 16 and she didn't speak a lot of English."

Viktor could very much understand the feeling of going to a whole new country, not knowing the language, not understanding the culture...

"She stayed for a year, until her choreographer got sick. A lot of the men from her studio did. Minako-sensei stayed but my mom didn't. She came back to Japan, finished school... met my dad. She had me when she was 19."

Viktor looked at her. "Why?"

"I dunno. My mom... she is sensitive. She didn't understand... She doesn't mean to be scared, but she lived in a time where they didn't know anything about it. She knows you can't get us sick, but... it's just... it's hard for her."

"I didn't know."

"Yeah, well, neither did I. Neither did Yuri... we only found out from Minako-sensei after the... well, after she..."

Viktor knew what she wanted to say. "The chopsticks."

Mari flicked the stub of her cigarette into the ashtray. "Hm. The chopsticks."

The conversation ended after that when Yuri pushed his way into the room with soup, mouth drawn in a straight line. Viktor hadn't wanted to bring it up again, and Mari seemed more than happy to let it die there. Viktor had so many questions, so many worries and fears, and yet... all he knew for certain was that Yuri was going to need him, and that Yuri needed his family, too.

After that conversation, Viktor thought of what he could say to Mrs. Katsuki, only to find his mind blank. He knew how much she loved her son, how passionately she would defend him. He liked to think that his own mother would be the same, has the roles been reversed. Yet, no matter how long he thought, no words could form, no apologies or words that would express just how deeply he was sorry. And he knew he should be sorry, though or what he still was not quite sure.

An apology for his illness? He wished he could apologize for that in a thousand ways, yet there were no ways. An apology for falling in love with Yuri? He could never apologize for that. It didn't matter if he were dying and the act would be a redemption, he would never apologize.

He knew the woman did not want that, and so Viktor spent the days before the Rostelecom Cup avoiding altercations... silent.

"Viktor, are you... are you sure you want to do this?"

"I am not letting them take this from you, Yuri. They can't. I won't let them."

It was the truth. It did not matter how much he hurt, he knew that Yuri would need him and that there were no options other than leaving the sleepy little hotspring inn to face the world outside... To face the reporters, whose voices only seemed to grow louder as the days passed.

But Viktor, if he was honest with himself... he was tired. The last two weeks since China, they had been nothing but torture, and if it weren't for Yuri, he would have never emerged.

"Come here, Viktor. I have an idea."

Viktor looked at Yuri, whose cheeks were flushed a light pink as he reached forward and put something over his head, pressing both sides against his ears. They were warm and firm, unmoving.

"Just listen to this, okay?"

The sounds of the lullaby surrounded Viktor, and he looked up to Yuri who was fiddling with his iPod, clicking the side to increase the volume.

They were quality speakers, good enough to block out the sound of anything but music, and instantly Viktor felt guilty and grateful, his emotions fighting for dominance within him. Yuri, sweet Yuri...

"Yuri-"

But Yuri reached out and pressed both of his hands against the headphones, letting his thumbs gently rest against his cheeks.

His mouth was moving, but Viktor could hear nothing.

"Huh?"

Yuri blinked and then let go, pausing the song.

Viktor reached up and pulled off the headphones, and sent an inquisitive look to Yuri, who mumbled and shrugged his shoulder back, looking away.

"I thought... It should help, right? Like when we were in China."

Viktor sucked in a deep breath between his teeth. At the Cup of China, Viktor had covered Yuri's ears, hoping that the shrieking above would not dare to penetrate their world. He had clapped his hands over Yuri's ears just like Yuri was doing now for him.

If only he could spend the rest of his life avoiding the vultures outside, already gathering and squawking for their next meal, but that would mean he would never get to go with Yuri, to follow the man into the future. How was he supposed to go forward, to go home, if he could not leave the house? How was he supposed to support Yuri if he was left a pitiful mess of broken man at the thought of returning to Russia?

Russia.

Home.

He had contacted Yakov, who had contacted his lawyers, and it was still difficult for Viktor to understand all of the points, but the point that was made over and over again was that he could return home with no consequences... That he could go with Yuri to Moscow freely.

He had broken no laws, not technically, despite the rumors in the press...

Yet, even know, Vitor did not believe it, not entirely. He knew home, knew what it was- he loved it, even in its broken places. It was painful for him to continue to believe in the loyalty of his Motherland, especially after all it had put him through, yet...

He had known nothing but St. Petersburg and Moscow, if he did not count the last year in the sleepy little town of Hasetsu. It was where he had grown from broken child to broken man. His mama and papa spent their short lives there, and were buried under the winter snows. Yakov, Lilia, Yurio... his little makeshift family that was not quite right, but not wrong, either.

Why was there such trepidation to return?

Viktor was careful not to use his left hand, remembering the feeling of glass shards digging their way into the soft flesh of his hand, the blank numbness as he looked down at the twisted metal and blood.

Twelve stitches.

Sochi.

Mikael.

Viktor shut his eyes and pushed back the burning ache, hoping that Yuri would not see the tears prickling at his lids.

"Yuri..."

Yuri gave him a half-hearted smile and reached out again, slipping the iPod into Viktor's pocket. "You can use mine for now. Until, well. You know."

Yes, Viktor did know. His shrink-wrapped phone he just picked holes in.

He knew that it wasn't healthy, but Viktor needed that human interaction, that soft hand against his. He knew that he needed something more, that he could not put all of that burden upon Yuri. He needed to be able to shoulder it on his own, but Yuri... just being around him lightened the heavy burden. He could survive. That much he could do that on his own. But live? Could he do it without something to lean on?

"Yeah, I know."

Viktor tried to fight back his nerves as he pulled at the heels of his shoes and then looked over to the luggage at their feet. They were going to drive to the airport with Minako, who was adamant they allow her to drop them off. It was a relief, since the trains were public and there was no way they could handle the two hour train ride in peace. The cameramen already at the door were wearing holes in the wooden flooring and he doubted he had the fortitude to handle the barrage of questions for the entire duration of their travel.

When he spoke to his lawyer the woman had been curt, borderline rude, but Viktor expected nothing else from one of Yakov's people. His former coach was a cutthroat in regards to his business, so it was not surprising that he would have an attack dog of a lawyer on retainer. Anya Komsky had beens strict in her words, informing him under no condition to comment to the press, not until she was able to find out more information about the leak.

Viktor looked out the little window and sighed. There were still a dozen reporters waiting and no doubt there would be more once they landed in Moscow.

"Yuri..."

Viktor wanted to apologize, but when the Japanese man turned to look at him, he couldn't do it.

"Viktor? You okay?"

"Yeah, Yuri. Thank you."

* * *

Moscow was cold, the snow already coming down hard, and it reminded Viktor of the day in the doctor's office nearly a year before. The snow had been thick that day, too, wet clumps kissing the windows and his face as he vomited. Now, though, there was something distinctly different that gave him pause. It was difficult to think of a word that properly fit the situation, so Viktor didn't. However, he did know that the feeling was Yuri.

It was always Yuri.

"Viktor, come in or you'll get a cold."

Viktor felt a warm hand on his shoulder and he turned around to see Yuri, bundled up in two sweaters, the blue zig-zagging fabric reminding him of the sweaters he wore when he was a young boy. The other man's nose was red from the cold and he could almost hear Yuri's teeth chattering in the wind.

Viktor turned and looked over the expanse of the city from the balcony and let himself close his eyes to take in a deep breath of fresh, burning cold air. It smelled almost like home, but just missing... something. What it was, Viktor wasn't sure.

Their arrival had been that of a nightmare, with the number of reporters swelling to the point that it was physically difficult to more through them, a swarm of flashing lights and hands waving in front of his face. He had kept his jacket buttoned to the top, headphones in place. He had even wrapped a soft scarf around his neck in part to hide the bottom of his face. Yuri had done much the same.

It took time to get through everyone, and thankfully the security had been kind enough not to abandon them to their own devices. Viktor would no doubt write a letter to Aeroflot at a later date; their ability to coordinate some semblance of privacy was helpful. Not perfect, but helpful.

Something touched his back and Viktor leaned into the touch, letting Yuri's hands run against his arms, rubbing at them. His bulky sweater put distance between their skin, but Viktor didn't mind. After the morning in the hotel room... It was hard to touch Yuri when he could barely even look at his own reflection in the mirror. Yet, it was this kind of touch that reminded him of warmth and joy, something he so rarely felt.

"You look tired."

Viktor turned, letting his back rest against the metal railing as he put his own arms over Yuri's shoulders.

As of late, all Viktor felt was tired. It was draining, more than any time in his life. Even when he was with Yakov, spending every moment of his day on the ice, he had never felt this terrible before. The lack of sleep, the constant fear-his stomach was just one constant ache.

"I'm fine, Yuri. Jet lag." He tried to smile, and he hoped that it would be enough to convince Yuri he was telling the truth, even though he knew it wasn't. "Maybe I'm getting the flu; it's that season."

"Do you want to go to the hospital?"

"Yuri, I'm fine. I'm taking my medicine. It's just the stress. Please, trust me. I'll get some sleep and it'll be fine." Viktor knew this feeling-it was the same feeling he had in the beginning, when he had locked himself away. Now, with Yuri... he couldn't shutter himself away, pretend like no one cared about him. His life had inherently stopped being just about him the moment he saw Yuri's video.

Yuri leaned forward and rested a kiss against his forehead, and Viktor watched as a few stray snowflakes dotted against his midnight black hair and his glasses. "If you feel sick when we go home, we'll see Fujimoto-sensei. Promise?"

Viktor nodded.

"Then come to bed."

Viktor made sure to close the door and prepare for sleep, making sure to set the alarm next to the bed-only one mattress.

That had gained some looks from the clerk, but the man surprisingly said nothing. When he handed over the key, though, he very clearly avoided Viktor's hand, instead handing over the key to Yuri.

It didn't hurt. Really. Why would he hurt because of a clerk?

Still, the hotel was nice enough, but what Viktor truly wanted was his own bed, just him and Yuri...

"I... I don't know if we will have time after the cup to go to St. Petersburg."

He wanted to bring Yuri home to St. Petersburg, to show him the clear blue skies and the ocean air as the snow froze across the beach like a soft blanket. He wanted to bring Yuri to see his parents, to allow the other man to see that part of him that he hid away from the magazines and the limelight. Yet...

It was no longer his home. Not really.

Home was...

Yuri pulled off one of his sweaters and threw it across the chair next to their bed, scratching at his chest. "We can spend the extra days in Moscow. That's fine." But there was a hint of disappointment in Yuri's voice, and Viktor knew that he couldn't deny anything to the man with his ugly blue sweater and messy hair. "Let's just... let's not worry about anything, okay? Isn't that what Yakov told you?"

Yuri was right.

"I need to go see him and his lawyer tomorrow. Do you think you can handle the practice without me? I shouldn't be too late."

Yuri pulled down the sheets and wiggled himself in, patting the part of the bed next to him. "It's fine, Viktor. I'll try to... well, avoid JJ. And Yurio."

Yurio. Yuri.

Viktor swallowed. "At least until I can talk to him on my own."

Yuri's face softened. "Is it okay if he asks questions to give him an answer? Just if I know the answer?"

Viktor snuggled into the bed, letting his hand rest on Yuri's cheek. ow was it that Yuri's skin was so warm? "You'll have to go early, we're gunna have a late breakfast after morning practice. Do you want to come?"

"You've talked to him?" Yuri looked surprised. "I thought you didn't bring your phone."

"When I talked to Yakov earlier," Viktor shared as explanation.

Yuri reached up and put his hand over Viktor's. "I think... I think you and Yurio should talk without me there. You know he doesn't really like me."

Yuri played with his thumb, pulling lightly at the nail, letting his own nail gently scrape against the skin. It wasn't enough to cause even a tickle, but it was a constant feeling on his skin that Viktor did not want to forget.

"It isn't that he doesn't like you. Actually I think he liked you a lot before... well, before the Grand Prix. Now... He doesn't understand you, that's all. He thinks you stole me away..."

"I did get you, though."

"I gave myself to you. He doesn't understand that yet, but he will. Just give me some time with him tomorrow. I think... I think I can help him understand."

Yuri reached out and caught Viktor's hand, bringing the tips of his fingers to his lips. Viktor hated that it was his injured hand, that any part of his broken body was near Yuri, but Yuri did not have that same fear.

"Okay. Let me know how it goes?"

"Yeah. I promise."

* * *

"Yuri, your feet are on the table."

The blond teenager in front of him rolled his eyes until Viktor could no longer see blue but he acquiesced nonetheless. He slammed his foot against the side of the table once, hard enough to knock some of the pebbles out of the grooves of his shoes, then slouched over the table.

"Fine."

Viktor wanted to say something else, but found himself going back to his menu, running over the dozen types of coffee that would all taste like ash in his mouth.

"Are you ready for the competition?" he gently asked, the Russian feeling strange on his tongue after spending months speaking only in English and the bits and pieces of Japanese he picked up over time.

Yurio scoffed. "Of course I am. What kind of stupid question is that?" He laid his hands on the table, the unblemished skin stark white against the dark wood. The boy picked at the pages of his menu and pretended to look at it, but Viktor knew what he would order.

This boy was like his little brother, after all.

"Has Lilia been difficult? I remember she used to drive me up a wa-"

Yurio dug his nails into the menu, the plastic creaking under the pressure. "Cut the bullshit, Viktor. We aren't here to talk about Lilia."

Viktor closed his menu and sat up just a little straighter. "Okay, Yuri. What is it?"

"The piggy told me it's true… that you're sick."

"I am."

"So piggy got you sick?"

Viktor shook his head. "No, he didn't get me sick, and I don't like you calling him that. I remember you wanted to meet him so badly at the Grand Prix…" Viktor remembered the guilt when he saw Yuri after, how he hadn't recognized the man as his competition…. especially since the boy in front of him had wanted to meet him. Something about his steps, though Viktor had never really thought about Yuri before that night.

"That was before he showed he was a loser piggy," Yurio snarled. "So, who did it? Who got you sick?" His voice was burning; hot and angry. "Was it that fucking pretty boy soccer player? I'll rip off his balls and serve it as borscht-"

"Yuri, calm down-" Viktor reached out to grab Yurio's hand, but he slapped it away.

It didn't hurt. It was okay, Yurio hadn't meant it that way.

"No, I'll kill him and nothing's gunna stop me! I bet he's the one who dropped it to the press-"

"I know who leaked it, Yuri. Yakov has been-"

"Not answering any of my questions!"

"-helping me find a lawyer. You're causing a scene, Yuri. Calm down."

It was true; several heads were turned to curiously look at Viktor and Yurio, and he was happy that there was a thin white curtain between them and the other customers. However, he could see their silhouettes snooping around outside.

Viktor changed his language to English, "Yuri, Yakov didn't tell you because I told him not to. You've been under so much pressure with your senior debut… I didn't want you to worry about me." Little Yurio, only able to focus on one thing at a time. That singular focus, that was what allowed him to skate so beautifully.

"It isn't fair."

"It's not."

"Viktor, are you gunna… are you dying? That's what the papers say." Yurio tried to put a brave face on, to let the world think that the only feelings he had were those of anger, but Viktor knew better.

Yurio was still the little, scared boy that clung to his leg at his first camp with Yakov. One of the girls in his class had pulled out a chunk of his hair after Yurio won the plastic gold medal and Viktor… Viktor had allowed the boy to stay hidden against his legs until he felt better. Viktor could still remember the fear as the boy clung to him and refused to let go. Even moreso he could remember Yakov laughing, calling Yurio Viktor's little shadow…

But Yurio had never been a shadow, not really. He had been a shy, scared, and lonely boy who turned bitter and angry with time. And part of it, Viktor knew, was his fault. The rest, well… that was on his mother.

"I'm not dying, Yuri. I have good doctors who are giving me a lot of medicine. I'm taking care of myself, okay?"

"You say that now, but what about in ten years? What are you gunna be then?!"

Viktor laid his palms flat against the table. "I'm not going to leave you or abandon you."

"No, you're just going to fucking die-"

"I am not dying!"

The hush washed over the cafe and Viktor found his hands balled up and shaking against the table, but he did not allow himself to scream like he truly wanted to. No, that would be too much for Yurio to take. It wasn't his fault.

"I'm not dying," Viktor repeated as he let his hands open up, realizing that a few of the deeper cuts on his palm had opened again, though thankfully there was very little blood. He grabbed a napkin and pressed it into the spot, only a slight hint of red coming back. "I'm not."

Yurio's eyes were downcast and for a few minutes the tension between them was cloying. He could tell Yurio had more to say-Yurio always had more to say.

They ordered their coffee, or in Yurio's case a disgusting slop of a frozen blended thing that came out with a spoon and straw, and Viktor avoided letting his hand touch anything. He rustled through the bag at his feet for a bandage and quickly took care of it. He pocketed the tissue and made sure that none of his mess was on the table.

"What'd you do to it?"

Viktor hadn't looked away from Yurio, and was already ready to answer any question the boy asked. "My hand? The phone… the press were being difficult. Broke the damn thing."

"Did you punch any of them?"

"No."

"You should have."

"Probably," Viktor conceded.

"So it wasn't Mikael?"

Viktor looked up to Yurio from his coffee, swirling the drink around in circles in his cup. "What do you know about Mikael?"

The blond crosses his arms. "I'm young, not blind. You'd been goo-goo eyes over him for like two years. Is he the one who…?"

Had he been so obvious?

"I don't know."

"Well with his wife running her mouth about how you must have given it to him and he gave it to her, it wasn't too hard to put the pieces togethe-"

Viktor tightened his hand around the mug before putting it down on the table with a clunk.

Yurio paused and pushed away his own caramel soup of a frozen drink. "You didn't know."

It wasn't a question.

"I broke my phone, remember?" It had been two weeks of terror and bliss without that connection, and now... now he regretted it.

Natalya...

He never met the woman, but he had seen their wedding pictures, her sweet round face, pretty blue eyes, long blonde hair. Viktor wanted to forget that face, never wanted to think of it again.

And now...

"She's sick?"

This was his fault. He had done this.

Yurio sighed. "Yeah. I... I thought you knew. I... Do you want me to call your boyfriend?" Yurio pulled out his phone, but Viktor shook his hand. "Viktor, you're shaking. Look-I'm gunna call the pi-Yuri."

"No... please don't."

Yurio looked up at him and nodded his head only once, then slid his phone across the table. "Do you... do you want to check the news? Maybe... maybe your email?"

Viktor didn't want to, but he knew... He knew it was better to rip off the bandaid quick and clean the wound than to leave it to fester. If anything over the last year had taught him anything, it was that this fact, this terrible fact, would never change.

"Yeah. Give it to me..."

His private email was something that no one but himself had any control over, and only close friends or coworkers had it, as well as a handful of the press. He quickly logged in and stared at the hundreds of email, looking through the names and knowing that most of them were things he would not need to read right at that moment. There was only one email he was looking for, the only one he had gone out of his way to find.

There it was. Just one previous correspondence, an email he had sent months ago that never received a reply.

Not until last week.

Viktor put the phone down on the table, staring at the message nestled between two emails from Christophe.

"Did you find something?" Yurio asked as he swirled his drink around with his straw.

"Yeah."

"You gotta look at it sooner or later."

"I… I know that, Yuri." But now that it was right there before him, his courage felt so far away. It was running in the opposite direction, to a place he did not know the name of yet he knew well enough to picture in his mind. Blond hair. Blue eyes So sad.

"Do you want me to read it?"

Viktor knew he meant well, but there was no reason he had to drag Yurio into this mess. The kid was a wreck of emotions as of late, puberty and skating weighing him down enough without the extra burden of his life that was Viktor Nikiforov.

"No, just…. let me-"

"Stare at it until you give yourself a nosebleed. Yeah, yeah. Whatever. But I want my phone back." Viktor didn't stop him and he reached out and snatched phone from the table, leaning forward to take a swig of his syrupy mess.

Yurio blinked at the phone before finally tossing it back on the table with a shrug. "She wants to meet you. Doesn't say anything about killing or maiming."

"Have you ever met Natalya Loskov?"

"No. Have you? You were the one sleeping with her husban-"

Viktor sent a blank stare to Yurio, who somehow managed to understand through the simple action that finishing the sentence would cause more of a fight than Viktor had in him. He was just so fucking…. Exhausted. It was like his bones were fighting against him, trying their best to break inside of his body. What was he but flesh, blood, and disease?

No. He had promised to himself, he had told himself more than a hundred times that this was not okay, that Yuri, his warm and lively and so terrifyingly human Yuri, would be nothing but devastated if he could hear those thoughts. That was not who he could be, wallowing in his own pain and self-regret.

But... Natalya.

That was his fault.

"Maybe he had it first."

Did it matter? The damage was done. Inside him stood the testament of his actions, the proof of his past. Even if he wanted to hide, he couldn't...

"Maybe, but... I doubt it."

And it was the truth. Mikael was a newlywed when Viktor had met him, but Viktor wasn't stupid enough to think that Mikael was inexperienced when they hooked up that first time. He wasn't even sure if there had been others when they were together, but Viktor hoped... he hoped there hadn't.

There weren't any for him.

But before him?

"But he's been a whore longer than you have-"

"Yuri, I don't want to talk to you about this."

"Why the fuck not-he's the one who got you sick-"

"He didn't get me sick. Stop it, Yuri. It was me." Viktor picked at the cut on his hand, but stopped himself when the bite of pain brought no relief.

"You don't know that!"

"You damn well don't either! For fuck's sake," he lowered his voice like it was a secret, but they both knew it was true. Not even Yakov could hide the things he did when he was stupid and young and impervious to death. "Yuri-it's my fault. I did it. I know you think I am a good person, but I'm not. I made mistakes..."

"I never said shit about you being perfect- you're an asshole-" The boy grabbed his straw and stabbed down into his drink, sending sticky brown liquid over the top. "You're stupid." He stabbed again. "Bastard." Stab. "I hate your guts."

Viktor paused. "No you don't."

Yurio slammed his hand into the drink, sending it careening into the screen. If there wasn't anyone listening before, now they were.

 _Drip. Drip. Drip._

"How am I supposed to skate against you when you're dead?"

Viktor watched the stain of caramel against the thin white sheet, spreading out like a wash of ugly, dull brown against the canvas of perfect white. "I'm not dying."

It was scary to admit that, every time he said the words it was a realization that the nightmare of his illness, it was something that would not end in the near future. It was something that he would have to endure for as long as his body let him. As it felt at that minute, though, he could have crawled into his white shroud and hidden from the boy he had considered part of his family.

Viktor could see something in Yurio's eyes, and he wanted to do something to comfort the kid, but nothing seemed to be good enough. What could he say to heal these wound? Hadn't it been only a few months ago where he had told Yakov to give Makkachin to him?

"The Viktor Nikiforov I knew is dead. He died when he took off his skates."

The words stung like a slap to the face, and Viktor felt his body respond to the words.

"That's fine."

Was it fine, though?

Skating. Skating had become his mother, his father, his siblings, his lovers. It was where he was free to be whatever he wanted to be, reach out into the void and have the void answer back. It was his hopes, it was his dreams, it was his promise for a future and the future's delicate whisper of time against his lips.

"I hurt people, Yuri. I hurt people I loved and now I will pay for it."

The blond growled out something Viktor could not understand and scratched his nails into the table.

"This is stupid. Why did it have to be you?"

"Why did it have to be Natalya? She's just a woman who married the wrong man."

Yurio tched. "She's the one who married a queer playing straight."

It wasn't Viktor's place to question Mikael about that. In the year of their relationship he had kept it quiet. He always promised that he would leave her and Viktor was stupid and gullible enough, so deeply in love with the idea of what Mikael promised him, he had just given into the need for affection.

It was the closest thing to genuine love that Viktor had ever felt.

Now, having Yuri, knowing the true face of love and devotion, of what made men different from the beasts, he knew that Mikael had been a sham. It wasn't even a particularly good one, filled with holes and restless nights and broken promises to fill in the gaps between their sweat-slicked bodies.

"She's been blabbing her ugly mouth all over Moscow, telling everyone who'll listen how you betrayed her and blah blah blah. Anyone with eyes could tell he was batting for the other team. Running off, crying to the press-she's-"

The tension headache was building behind his eyelids and Viktor rested his middle fingers on the bridge of his nose, gently massaging the points, hoping that it would make him feel just a little more human.

"Yuri, I can't do this right now."

He had tried his best and he knew it wasn't fair to the boy but there was a threshold he could take and this conversation, this never-ending loop, was making him nauseous. The last thing he wanted was to vomit up his coffee and the little of the food he had managed to eat.

"I need to go meet Yakov and his lawyer. They want to talk about Dr. Kamkin and the leak. I think we both need some time to think."

The waitress poked her head in to clean up the mess, but Yurio nearly kicked her when she got too close to him. "Oh. Your doctor... Whatever. Fuck you too, Viktor." He grabbed the gray sweatshirt hanging on the back of his chair and stood, throwing it over his arms, fumbling for a moment to get his arms and head to go into the holes.

"You want to act like it's all your fault and throw a pity party? Here-" Yurio grabbed a wad of napkins and threw them into Viktor's face. "Some confetti."

And Yurio left, a tornado of anger and bitterness and tears, hidden under the mess of napkins fluttering in the wind.

"Good luck."

Viktor wasn't sure if Yurio heard him.

* * *

Viktor got back to their hotel room late, already finding Yuri well on the way to sleep. Instead of saying a word, Viktor toed off his shoes and peeled off his jacket, then unwrapped the layers of scarves and wool like he was removing a layer of skin. After running around all day, everything seemed to hurt…

"You're back…"

Viktor winced. "I'm sorry for being so late."

He had wanted to meet Yuri for dinner, to go with him to practice, but things had gotten so… so…

Yuri nestled his head against his pillow and opened his bleary brown eyes. "Hn, it's okay."

It wasn't okay.

"I met Yurio. And Yakov and his lawyer."

Yuri rubbed at his eyes and reached over blindly for his glasses. "Hm?"

Viktor sat down on the edge of the bed. "They said there's no case. I didn't do anything illegal…"

"Highly immoral and in the court of public opinion I am sure they'll let you rot depending on if it is a Tuesday or not, but legally you didn't break a single thing."

She was an imposing woman, hair up in such a severe bun it made her eyebrows look permanently surprised. She had a thin mouth that reminded him of Lilia, the way she showed nothing but raw power that could send even a man like Yakov into terror. And, thankfully, she was on their side.

"Your Doctor- we filed a petition with the hospital he is affiliated with, and your name has a fair amount of clout. Some people are quite fond of you." Words that would have typically brought a hint of wonder or interest or even a little envy were clinically stringent.

They were in her office, a sterile room that reminded him of Kamkin's office so long ago, the stench of desperation carved into the wood. She sat in her high-backed chair, looking down at him. The chair legs were shorter-accident or on purpose, Viktor could only guess.

"Viktor Nikiforov-the National Treasure of Russia. The most well known Russian in the world, other than our President." Her mouth became a strong slash of red rouge across her face and Viktor tried to back himself away from her, inching further into his chair. "The public is torn on whether they should love and take pity on you or hate and let you burn."

"Getting the companies to not drop your endorsement deals has been a complete catastrophe. We'll do our best, but I can't guarantee you anything."

Yakov crossed his ankle over his knee, resting his hand on his arm rest. Viktor thought it made him look regal, like an angry king dealing with his errant prince. "And the journalist?"

"It entirely depends on how he came to find the information. It is more than likely it was sent to him, and he is not required to give information on informants. Releasing your full medical records online on their servers is a breach of protocol, so we can likely handle it that way." Anya Komsky picked up herself papers and harshly tapped them against the table, making the wood quiver.

"And as for the situation with the painter-"

Viktor bit his lip and played with the corner of his jacket, noting the loose thread that never seemed to end.

"She'll kill your reputation if she keeps it up-she has a way with the press."

He pulled at the thread. "She has the right."

"Vitya, don't say that."

Viktor looked at his former coach, at his downcast eyes and the way he looked like he hadn't slept in ages. It had been a long time since he had really looked at Yakov…

Being around him for every day since he was a child, the changes came slowly. But, now that he had spent so much time away from the man, it was a stark contrast. The hollows of his cheeks were deeper, his skin was thinner, his eyes a little less vibrant. It reminded him of those weeks after Yakov's divorce from Lilia, or when one of the older skaters died in Viktor's second year in the Juniors after a car accident.

But Yakov looked almost... defeated.

"I'm not saying it's right that she does it... but she does have the right to be angry. If I did give it to Mikael, I'm to blame for her illness."

Anya shook her head. "You have no control over her husband having sex with her without a condom after having unprotected sex with you. You are not responsible for the actions of others."

"The press doesn't seem to think so."

On the way to meeting with Yakov and while cooling himself after the disastrous breakfast with Yuri, he stopped by a local magazine stand to see most of the covers splotched with his face, his diagnoses written in bright red letters as the headline. He knew he shouldn't have, but he bought anything that mentioned his name, staring up at the woman who ran the stand with blank eyes as she rang him up, looking back and forth between the magazines and his face across the top.

Most of it was dead wrong-lots of accusations about Imani since she was of South African and Kenyan descent, despite her mother being a world famous photographer and her father a diplomat for the UN. There were accusations that were closer, about the time after Sochi... the incident in October, where Mikael and Viktor had stupidly gone to the club and acted like a bunch of foolish, inexperienced teenagers copping a feel outside where anyone could hear or see.

And in one magazine, its bright yellow cover making Viktor's eyes ache, the writer mentioned Sochi, the sex, the condoms, the athletes letting loose after finishing their events...

It was no wonder that someone became infected... and how many more were there?

The only ones that really bothered Viktor were the ones with Yuri's face splashed across the front. How dare they wonder about his status-wonder if Viktor had told him. Suggesting he had lied, that he had exposed Yuri to the virus, that the same thing slowly leaching his life was part of Yuri now...

Seeing Yuri's sleepy eyes and frowning mouth was an instant reminder that no, they were wrong. Yuri was here, Yuri was whole, Yuri was alive.

"What's gunna happen to the doctor?" Yuri tried to sit up, but Viktor pushed his hand against his chest.

"Stay there, I'm joining you." The bed was warm, and Viktor curled up under the blankets, letting his feet rest against Yuri's calf. He rested his head at the junction between Yuri's neck and shoulder. "Said they're reporting it to the hospital. They'll see what can be done... maybe they'll take his license. But... maybe not."

It was highly unlikely, but it was always a possibility. Anything was possible when it came to his life. Its simple existence was enough to shatter what had been the norm.

"Yurio okay?"

Viktor took in a deep breath and buried his head in deeper, enough that Yuri didn't need to say a word in comfort as he lifted his hands to Viktor's hair. The soft, teasing pull was comforting, making Viktor feel completely surrounded and safe.

"He will be."

Yuri sighed in understanding. "Just needs time."

Viktor let his breath ghost over Yuri's cheek. "How was practice?"

Yuri shrugged. "Tomorrow'll be better. You have any plans?"

"I'll be with you all day, I promise."

It was quiet for a moment and then Yuri's voice, a little more alert, shattered the silence.

"Viktor... I do want to go to St. Petersburg." His voice was soft, but not pleading. Yuri needed to beg for nothing.

Viktor allowed his eyes to drift shut, the image of his parents and their small house in St. Petersburg, their warm skin kissed by the sun. Their little plots of land, side by side, where Viktor would build snowmen and make angels when he would visit in the winter when the Russian landscape was kissed with the touch of snow.

"Okay. We can do it... If you medal. Think you can do that?"

Yuri's half-sleepy smile was enough to melt ice.

"You bet I can."

* * *

When Yuri medaled bronze, Viktor kept his promise.

They chose to take the train back, to explore a little more of the beauty of the distance between Moscow and St. Petersburg, though the main reason was that Viktor felt more comfortable while taking the train than using an airline because of the timetable. They left late at night, long before the dawn rose, and were in the city in just enough time to see the sun peak over the painted cathedrals that dotted the sky.

Viktor opted for the Superior First class train, knowing that with how tired they were it would be nice to lay down for a bit of sleep, and there were ways to block out anyone looking into their compartment. It wasn't as comfortable as his bed, and Viktor wanted to lay down in his bed like he hadn't wanted to in so long, though again he was left with the realization that he wasn't sure what was truly his bedroom anymore-Hasetsu or St. Petersburg.

Yet, having the chance to watch the sun peak over the tundra with Yuri... despite everything, it still felt so very normal.

But Viktor knew better than to accept the reprieve as a gift, because he was still locked away in his own gilded cage. He was hidden away from the brunt of the reveal of his disease, leaving Yuri and the others to deal with the aftermath. The few days of the Cup had shown Viktor just how bad it was, and he had been blessed with fortune that his Yuri was... so... kind.

The music, Yuri's smile, the house in Hasetsu... refusing to even turn on his phone...

His phone.

It was a little after they had boarded the train that Viktor first touched the topic.

"Yuri, can I borrow your phone?"

Yuri nodded and reached into his bag, pulling out the sleek iPhone before tossing it to Viktor. It landed in his hand, the little poodles making Viktor crack a smile. He had seen the pictures of Vii-chan throughout the house in Hasetsu, and Yuri refused to tell him more than the dog's name and that he had died right before the Grand Prix. It made sense, then...

Of course Yuri had done so poorly at the Grand Prix. If Viktor had lost Makkachin...

Viktor shook his head and ran his finger over the cute blue case before turning it, staring down at the screen.

"What's your passcode?"

He looked up to Yuri only to notice that his lover's ears had turned the most interesting shade of red. "Um... 122589."

Viktor couldn't help but to smile. "My birthday."

Yuri gave a half shrug, his hands twisting and turning.

"It's okay, mine was 11292."

That little look, the one that was half smile and half shy twitches, made Viktor's heart burn, and he quickly entered in the pin number.

"What are you doing?"

"I think... I think I need to set up a meeting with Natalya."

Yuri said nothing, though he did reach forward to grab Viktor's hand. It was still pink and raw, but not bleeding anymore. He held his hand, gently rubbing circles into the skin between his forefinger and thumb for a moment before letting go.

"It's not a bad idea."

Viktor had thought about the message since he had seen it on Yurio's phone, and had known the right thing to do would be to meet her and to give her any of the information she asked. It was only fair to her. In his gilded cage where there were no phones and only the screaming echo of the reporters, it was so much safer than outside in the real world.

So, Viktor sat down in their sleep car and flipped through his messages, starting from the beginning. He skimmed each one, looking out for any from contacts he knew he had slept with in the past. Viktor knew that he would need to log in to his anonymous email to check for any responses, and he expected there to be quite a few, especially now since the story had broken. But...

The only one he had sent from his personal email had been the one to Natalya.

He stared at her words, imagining what her voice would sound like, how she would sigh, how she would cry. Viktor could almost see her if he stared at the phone screen for long enough.

"Viktor... you need to be ready... for whatever she says." Viktor looked up to see Yuri worrying at his lip. He opened his mouth, but Yuri reached out, resting his hand on Viktor's knee. "She's angry and scared. She's... think of her like she's Yurio."

Viktor's knee trembled. "Yurio... he's..."

Yuri tightened his hand on Viktor's knee. "I know. He's hurt and scared, too. We all are. But, we've got to get through it."

"Are you scared?"

"Yes. But I love you and I'm going to stay by your side." Yuri let go of his leg and stood, pushing his knee against Viktor as he climbed onto the bench next to him. He leaned in close, letting their knees bump against one another. "I can't read or write Russian, but I can get you coffee or something to eat or..."

Viktor rested his empty hand on top of Yuri's. "Just you being here is enough for me."

It was easier to write the email to her when Yuri was next to him.

They stayed in the silence all night, with Yuri snuggled against his side with his nose tickling breath against his throat, while Viktor went through each email. He tried to answer the ones that were important, like to Christophe and Imani, while ignoring anything that looked like it was from the press. He had over a two dozen messages from Nina Ignatyeva and Anna Popov put together, as well as one tersely-written letter from Grigory Kashin dated for the night of Yuri's Free Skate in China. It wanted to ask if he had a comment about the news of his disease being released to the media.

That one...

Viktor stopped himself from replying with what he really wanted to send to that man. But, he remembered what Anya Komsky said...

And he hit the close button of the email, not saving it to his draft folder.

The rest of the night and morning Viktor tried to sleep, but he knew he could only get so much comfort in Yuri's soft breath against his skin. By the time they woke to see the sun rising above the tops of the the Church of the Savior on Spilled Blood, only a little of the pain in his head was gone.

As a child, he had loved to look up at the spirals and wonder what it would be like to gaze upon the city from the highest point in the city. He even had a crazy idea that he would one day get married in that church, despite the fact that he knew that the church wasn't really used as a church anymore. Still...

When they got off the train, Viktor took a deep breath in of the salty air and closed his eyes, listening for the telltale call of the seagulls as they fought against the tides and themselves for their next meal. The lapping of the waves against the shore, the cold air biting at his cheeks, it was a comfort that he felt only in St. Petersburg and then, now, in Hasetsu.

The snow was weak, barely enough to even call for a jacket for most, and Viktor was surprised to see Yuri was able to handle it before remembering Detroit.

"Is it cold in Detroit too?"

"Yeah, it gets pretty nasty. I preferred staying in Japan for the winters, but with it being so busy... Well, skaters can't be choosers, right?"

The station was crowded, people milling through one another as the sun touched down on the snow. Viktor nodded and thought of taking Yuri's hand in his, but instead shoved them into the deep recesses of his pockets. He didn't look at Yuri, but he could feel him next to him, a comforting presence.

"Do you want to go to my apartment or..."

"Your parents?"

"Yeah..."

"Can you... can you take me there?"

The cemetery was too far away of a walk from the station, so they opted for a drive through St. Petersburg in a little black taxi with the name a smear of letters Yuri read out loud slowly, unsurely.

"Your mom told me you could read a little," Viktor remarked after giving the directions to the uninterested old man with a dark cap and yellow teeth who only replied in terse grunts, his stale breath making Viktor pull his head away with a jerk.

"Just the basics. I can't understand a lot, but..."

Enough for Yuri to read the magazines, to leave his fingerprints against the pages, to understand more about him.

"We should practice it. You can help me with my Japanese and I can help you with you Russian."

"I'd like that."

When they arrived to the little cemetery, Viktor paid the driver and both climbed out and into the snow.

"My apartment is close to here. I bought it so I could be close to them."

Their footsteps made tracks through the fresh white snow, and Viktor's feet knew the way there without looking. He had walked this path so many times that his shoes had left imprints upon the stone.

The trees were stripped bare of their leaves, leaving little piles stacked near the base of a mausoleum worn by time and snow. A small angel sat with open hands toward the heavens, a snowball forming on top of her cold, stone fingers.

They walked for only a minute or two and finally Viktor removed his hands from his pockets, letting them lay loosely at his side. His gait became slow, then stopped in front of the stone cross, a bundle of white roses laid at the base.

Yuri reached forward and laced their fingers together. "Tell me about her."

Viktor pulled Yuri's hand close to his chest, resting it against his chest.

"She had golden hair, like the sun... I remember, she was the one who gave me my first set of skates. Laced them up on my feet and held my hand as I took my first steps on the ice... She was early morning breakfasts and late night hugs. I still remember her perfume."

"Who left the flowers?"

They were still fresh.

"Yakov and Yurio came back last night. I know they stop by sometimes..." It was a small request, and Yurio had never once complained about the chore.

The next cross had another bouquet.

"My father. He was always so strong. He would pick me up and spin me around and around... I always thought if I had a child, I would do the same."

Children. Ever since he was a child himself, he wanted the whole-hearted love that only a child could give to a parent. The chance to love someone unconditionally, to watch them grown and become the people they were destined to be. Viktor could close his eyes and imagine them; they would have a house full of love. There would be sweet syrniki burning on the stove because Viktor forgot them, a soft snow hitting the window. There would still be the dim morning light, filtered in through the cracks in the clouds.

"You want kids?"

Viktor tightened his grip on Yuri's hand. "I always thought I would have at least two. That way they wouldn't be lonely." That way they would always have someone to care for them, to hold their hand if they were scared, if something happened to Viktor or their mother.

They were fool's dreams, now.

It was okay. Being with Yuri, having the man next to him, it was enough for him.

"But... no. Not anymore."

They stood in the silence until Viktor began to rum, then sing, heat rising to his cheeks. He knew this song, it was the song he had heard throughout his childhood. Even after his mother's soft voice faded from memory he could still remember her hand against his skin. This was their song, their tradition.

It didn't feel right to be there in the presence of his mama and papa without it, and so he allowed his shaky, broken voice to carry over them.

And he hoped, wherever they were, they could hear him... that they could see him.

He finished the song on barely a crescendo, letting it trail off into the snow.

"Mama... Papa... This is Yuri. Yuri," he switched to English. "This is my Mama and Papa."

Yuri gripped his hand tighter.

"I... I'll do my best. I promise."

And the wind sang in response.

* * *

"Vikku... do you trust me?"

Viktor turned in his bed to look at Yuri who pushed up his glasses nervously at the bridge. The Japanese man was sitting up next to him, his blue shirt riding up his stomach, the black checkered boxers contrasting with his white sheets. The hundred tiny lights from above his bed glittered like stars against the halo of his black hair.

"You know I do."

"Then just... lay back, okay?"

Viktor swallowed the lump forming in his throat as Yuri leaned down and pressed a kiss against his mouth, letting his fingers ghost across Viktor's stomach, touching at the curls that made their way down his stomach. He was gentle, only petting them with soft strokes, but Viktor could feel his body reacting without permission.

"Yu-Yuri. We-uuh. We can't."

"You said you trusted me, didn't you? I promise... I won't push." Yuri's face was a little blushed, but full of determination. It was a face that Viktor had seen only when Yuri was on the ice or preparing to go against the press as of late. It was a face that made Viktor let out a breathless gasp as he felt Yuri's hand press down against his cock.

Like pulling a bandaid off.

"Shh, Viktor. Look at me. Look at me."

Viktor stared up into Yuri's eyes as the other man reached down, gently pulling him out of his boxers. He could feel Yuri's warm hand and bit down on his lip to stop himself from moaning.

He hadn't touched himself like this since... since before. Even in his most shameful moments, laying broken and covered in sweat as he woke from his nightmares of Yuri under him and moaning wantonly as he fucked him into the mattress, he hadn't touched himself. He had tried everything to fight against himself, to not let those desires overcome him.

"No, I want to hear it. Please?"

"Yuri-I ca-"

"Shh." Yuri leaned down as he ran his thumb up the vein before rubbing circles against the tip. "You can trust me. I promise."

Viktor let his mouth open when Yuri leaned down for a kiss, even though he felt the lower half of his body moving to a different rhythm. He could hear his heart beating in his ears and allowed himself to close his eyes.

Viktor allowed himself to feel Yuri's warm hand against him, and he fell into the sensation even though he wanted to make Yuri stop... yet he didn't. He wanted this, his body wanted this, and it felt the way Viktor thought it always was supposed to feel... When he met the person he loved, it would feel... different. It would feel more... something. It was the hopeless romantic in him, but he could still feel it.

There weren't words to describe what Yuri's hand felt like on him, but what was even harder was when he pulled away from their kiss and pressed his lips against Viktor's eyelids.

"Don't cry..." Yuri said as his hand slowed. "Is this too much?"

"Please don't stop."

And Yuri didn't.

He wasn't able to last long against the ministrations, but he knew that Yuri didn't judge him. He came with Yuri's hands on him, his lips against his, their bodies pressed against one another.

"Hey, hey," Yuri reached up with his free hand, wiping away the wetness on Viktor's cheeks. "I wasn't that bad, was I?"

A wet bubble pulled out of Viktor's mouth as he opened his eyes and wrapped his arm around Yuri's neck, pulling him closer. He could feel a little sweat on his forehead. "No, no. You're perfect. It was perfect."

Viktor kissed him once and then felt Yuri's hand still around his softening cock, and the liquid dripping down his fingers... He was gently wiping away his cum before letting him go.

"Hey, hey, it's okay." Yuri seemed to be able to read Viktor's mind as he pulled his hand gently away. "I'll go wash my hands and I'll be right back."

Yuri kissed him one more time before getting to his knees and getting out of the bed, slipping through the bathroom door. Viktor heard the water running for a moment, then stopping.

He put his arm over his eyes to wipe away anything left on his skin just as Yuri came back, holding out a warm washcloth. "Here."

"Thanks, love."

Yuri paused. "You've never called me that before..."

Viktor smiled. "Do you want me to not call you that?" He reached out and took the washcloth and cleaned himself, never looking away from Yuri. When he was finally clean he tossed the washcloth into the trashcan.

"Or you can just wash it," Yuri mumbled.

"Not worth it. Too much energy."

Yuri curled up next to him as he put himself away, thankful that Yuri's hand had caught most of his cum...

"Gimme your hand."

Yuri's brows furrowed. "Okay?"

Yuri let his hand hand in the air and Viktor grabbed hold, staring at the unblemished flesh. He kissed the man's wrist and then every finger, searching for even a hangnail.

"I'm okay, Vikku. Dr. Fujimoto-"

"Is more interested in us having sex than he should be," Viktor countered.

"-wants us to be careful, but he said we can." Yuri smacked his arm playfully. "And he cares about you. I think you're his favorite patient."

Yuri laid his head against Viktors chest. "And I like it."

Viktor looked down at Yuri. "What, you like me being his favorite patient?"

"No, no. Calling me "Love." I like it. So... you should do it more."

Viktor kissed his hand again. "Okay, I wi-"

BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG-

Viktor threw his arm over Yuri, shoving him down into the bed. The sound continued, making Viktor's heart jump into his throat.

"What the-" Yuri tried to push himself up, but Viktor held him down.

"Shut up." Viktor whispered. "Get in the closet-"

"Vikto-"

"Get in the closet!"

"VIKTOR-VITYA!"

That voice.

"Is that Yurio?"

Viktor jumped off the bed, throwing the door to his bedroom open so hard it bounced off the wall, leaving a hole from the handle. He was across the living room and swinging the door open, nearly catching his foot on the wood.

Yurio had his hand curled to hit the door again, though he only managed to barely stop himself from hitting into Viktor's face.

"Whoa, whoa-Yuri-" Viktor said as he reached forward and grabbed Yurio's hand. "What are you doing he-"

Blood.

Yurio's hand was stained with red, making Viktor's stomach flip and he had to fight back against the urge to vomit when he felt it squelch under his fingers. The boy's gray sweater had several large stains of red across the chest and upper arms...

Yuri's face was as white as snow, dotted with flecks of red, and Viktor looked down to his other hand to see the shining metal dotted with blood.

 _Drip. Drip. Drip._

"Yuri... why do you have a crowbar?"

"I... I... I didn't mean to. I thought he was asleep. I..." Yurio's mouth dropped wide and he let out a sob. The crowbar dropped to his feet with a clang and Yurio crumpled.

Viktor caught the boy as he fell and pulled him into the living room, holding the sobbing teenager to his chest. Yurio clung, clung to him as though he were a lifeline, and Viktor had no idea what to do.

Viktor looked up to Yuri who was standing in the doorway in his boxers, staring over the scene.

"Get the crowbar," Viktor choked.

Yurio was still shaking in his arms and Viktor didn't move him much, just letting the teenager cry until his entire shirt was blotted with tears and Yuri had managed to clean up the blood from the front door and the the ground near where the crowbar had fallen. Viktor had no idea where Yuri put the crowbar, only hearing it hit metal with a sickening thunk.

"I didn't mean to, I didn't mean to," Yurio repeated as he cried, and Viktor only rocked him back and forth.

"Should I call Yakov-" Viktor began, but only stopped when Yurio slammed his hand against the floor. "I'll take that as a no."

It took a few minutes for Yurio to calm down enough for Viktor to check him over. He could tell that some of the blood was coming from a gash in Yurio's upper arm, small slivers of glass embedded in the fabric around the wound.

"What is this-"

"I just wanted to bash his windows in." Yurio winced when Viktor gently pulled at the boy's sweater. He tried one more time, though he quickly gave up when he realized how much pain it caused Yurio. They needed to go to the doctor-Viktor could see puffy white from the wound. How far had the glass gone in? And how much was still there? "Fucking bastard-"

Viktor let go of Yurio. "Who?"

"That piece of shit doctor. That motherfucker," Yurio snarled, "Kamkin."

Viktor's heart seized. "No, no Yuri. Please tell me you didn't."

But Viktor could see the blood on his floor, on his shirt, across Yurio's gray sweater.

He knew that Yurio wasn't lying. God, he knew Yurio wasn't lying.

"What did you do?"

The boy couldn't respond, and Viktor put his hands to his hair, only realizing too late hat his hands were stained red.

It was okay... it was okay.

Yurio's composure was more fragile than Viktor had ever seen it, and he was thankful when Yuri came by with two cups of tea and another washcloth.

"Thanks," Viktor said to Yuri and turned to hand Yurio the tea. The blond shook his head and wrapped his arms around himself as he hunched forward, pulling his knees up. He fought back his own panic as he reached out and gently wiped away some of the blood from Yuri's hands, then the droplets from his cheeks. "Yurio?"

The blond rested his head down against his knees. "I.. you told me his name, so I looked him up. I just wanted to bust his windows..." Yurio choked back a sob, pulling his knees closer. "I just... I didn't... I didn't mean to."

Oh, god. "Yuri, what did you _do_?"

"He came out... I didn't... I... it was dark... I swung at him... I think I hit him... I didn't mean to."

The stone in the bottom of Viktor's stomach dropped further. There was blood on Yurio's hands, there was blood everywhere. "Oh. Oh, god."

Yurio let out a sob, his entire body wracking back and forth, and Viktor was careful as he pulled Yurio closer, feeling the tears wetting his cheeks when Yurio's face fell against his shoulder. It reminded him of those days so long ago when Yurio was still the little boy crying over his pulled hair.

"Shh, it's okay, Yuri. Shh. I have you."

Viktor looked up to Yuri, who was worrying his thumb as he stared down at the two.

'Call Yakov,' he mouthed to Yuri, who gave a slight nod as he headed off into the bedroom, making sure to close the door gently.

"They're gunna send me to jail."

The pain in his stomach was morphing from sheer terror to the cramps from his medicine, but Viktor did not let go of Yurio.

"They're not going to send you anywhere. We'll figure it out... It's gunna be okay."

"Everything's gone to shit... This is all my fault."

"No, Yuri... It's okay. We'll get through this..."

Yurio let out a gut-wrenching sob and Viktor could feel his nails digging into his back. "I... I... I don't want you to die."

Viktor reached up and ran his hand through Yurio's blond hair, feeling the drying blood between his fingers.

"I promise I won't... I promise..."

* * *

 **Please review!**


	6. Chapter 6

I wanted to make a quick point: There is a difference between criticism and hate. If you have any criticism over this story, that is more than welcome. You guys aren't required to leave glowing praise if you have an issue with characterization or the story or the mechanics of my writing. (For example, I abuse the hell out of commas and have run-on sentences like a mother. Let me know if it gets too terrible or if it is obnoxious.)

I've mentioned this before, but I grew up as an HIV/AIDS activist. I have deep ties with the HIV+ community due to the people I love. 2016 was an emotional wreck for me because of this, which is why I use this story as my outlet.

I write this story because I want a way to explain what it feels like to build your life from the ashes. I want people to know that you are not alone. I guess if that makes me "pretentious" then so be it. Also, I am not straight? I have no idea why people seem to think they have a right to anything about my sexuality, but yeah.

I also specifically made Viktor bisexual. I am not sure you guys are aware, but when the HIV/AIDS epidemic began, bisexual men were scorned because they were considered the kind of people who spread the disease from the gay population into the mainstream population. Not only was this a lie, but this kind of thinking that bisexuals are evil is something I wanted to tackle. Now, something I will say is that Viktor is extremely sexually active—and so are a lot of men and women. There is nothing wrong with being sexually active. There is nothing wrong with having as many lovers as you want. The thing that I wanted to cover in this story is that when you are sexually active you should be safe.

Someone accused me of just wanting to write "a life-after-tragic-thing-happens illness fic" which is not what I wanted to write at all. If you've looked at my entire life of writing, my biggest and most well-known story is a 430,000 word action/adventure. After that it is cracky comedy, and then it's pretty much a straight shot of porn. This story makes no sense in my "Fan Fic Repertoire" when you compare it to my body of work. This is as close to real life and far away from my normal writing as you can possibly get. So.

Moving on!

Thank you guys so much for the support for last chapter. I know it was a doozy and Yurio was... well, Yurio was an angry kid with a metal crowbar. But I hope that this chapter will help explain some of what is going to happen from this point forward.

As usual, all links can be found on my Ao3 account. I highly recommend looking them up.

* * *

Viktor stared down at the paper in front of him, the black ink shining like an oil slick across the white surface. The words were clear and his lawyer had looked over it a dozen times to check for loopholes. She was Yakov's attack dog, after all—so thorough Viktor didn't doubt that she had already memorized the entirety of the contents of the document. It was surprisingly short; only three pages of an agreement, and Viktor found it almost comical when compared to what he had signed the year before.

This time though... this time he read through each word. He seared them into his own memory.

How was it that just a year before he had been sitting in a clinically sterile office, fighting down a cough and the shakes as he signed away his freedom on the dotted line? Just his name and the date, a signature that gave more than he bargained for. He gave the Russian government a gun, then cocked it and pointed it to his own head with his naivety.

And of course now, now that he once again had a piece of paper with such precise and succinct language that laid out what would happen...

He wanted to laugh.

No. He wanted to _cry_.

"Sign there, Mr. Nikiforov, and this is over."

 _Over_. It would be over for the man across the table with his broken ribs and shattered nose. His bruises would fade and in time his bones would knit themselves back together. He only took two shots but Yurio was strong, so much stronger than he gave him credit for, and the man before him was weak and brittle from age and the long, cold Russian winters that did not grant him a the warmth of the kiss of sun.

While others saw only the fairy of Russia and the good doctor, Viktor saw the truth and it shined like a beacon of light in the dark.

Yurio was a mess and so was Kamkin.

And more than them, so was he.

Viktor looked up to his side at Anya who sat impassively staring at the other lawyer, her hands folded in front of her in a way that reminded Viktor of the way his father folded his mother's hands in her coffin. Her lips were pursed and she looked out across the table with barely-concealed contempt.

She didn't like this; she was a fighter and wanted blood. And after what Kamkin had done to him... Viktor wanted the man to suffer, too. But Anya, well... this, to her, was like taking everything she stood for and spitting in its face. She did not give up. She did not give in. She wanted to ruin Kamkin, because while it wasn't her disease shown to the world, she was not the type of person who accepted defeat. They had spoken for days about the choice and about the options ahead...

And this was the only option that would work.

For Yurio.

The paper was a sham, either way. Both of them knew what was really going on here. While the government could go after Kamkin for illegally giving confidential healthcare documents to the press... with this...

Viktor picked up the pen and laid it against the page.

"I sign and this goes away? You swear?"

Kamkin looked to Viktor through two blue eyes hidden in black bruises. Yurio had broken his nose in four places and his eyes were puffy, though the man's sight was not damaged. Viktor could see the splotches of black and blue turning to sickly greens and yellow, reminding him of winter becoming spring.

Legally... he was giving away more than he was comfortable with. Anya was furious because she thought she had a better chance of nailing Kamkin to the wall in court, but Viktor... Viktor didn't want to chance it. He'd been vomiting for days since Yurio showed up, banging on his front door. He wanted it to be over.

This was such a small price to pay to fix it...

"We have the document here. Doctor Kamkin will drop the charges against the hooligan—"

"His name is Yuri."

The lawyer did not even pause, "in exchange for your signature."

It was such a small price... a small price.

Viktor wished that Yuri was next to him, that he could have held his boyfriend's hand as his other shook, the pen leaving a spiderweb of ink. More black ink. Yet, he told Yuri to head back to Japan. Russia was no place for Yuri to be even though he wished he could have wrapped his arms around the other man and take his warmth as a solace of comfort. Being by himself, for the first time since he had seen that video of Yuri so long before, made his soul ache. He didn't want to be in Russia without the other man.

He wanted to go _home_.

"Fine."

Viktor signed on the dotted line and stared down at his looping signature at the bottom, looking the same as it had on the affidavit Kamkin made him sign so long ago. He had changed so much since that day, despite the winter winds picking up and banging against the window being so, so familiar.

Kamkin picked up his own pen, making quick work of signing his own document before pushing the paper at Viktor with a force that made the pages flutter.

Anya picked up the papers and combed through it while Kamkin's lawyer did the same. Now it was Viktor's turn to cross his hands in his lap, letting his fingers run over his knuckles. It was a simple thing to do, letting each bump lull him into a safe place where the doctor across from him wasn't staring holes into him, wishing for him to wither and die.

Viktor didn't want to look at the man. The entire week of the ups and downs had taken its toll on him and Viktor was simply _exhausted_. He wasn't supposed to be in Russia for as long as he ended up staying.

Thankfully, Viktor had brought more medicine, so at least he hadn't needed to worry about that. He still had enough to last another week, just in case. He was thankful to Yuri who had been the one to pack the extra pills... Yet, Yuri had forgotten to bring extra socks for himself and ended up having to borrow some of his extras in the last two days of his trip.

Viktor hadn't liked that.

It had nothing to do with the socks; the socks were trivial and silly, and Viktor would have given Yuri an entire room full of socks. But, the fact that Yuri had worried more about him than he had himself...

It wasn't fair to Yuri. None of this was fair to Yuri, and he knew it. Yuri knew it too, and that realization sent such a jolt of terror and anguish through him that it made it hard to breathe. Viktor didn't know how to respond to it. The only relationships he had were fire and anger and pain, and even with Imani it had never been the same way it was with Yuri. Imani, for all her artistic soul, had been intrinsically a taker. Mikael was even worse.

The worst of all was Viktor.

Yuri was the opposite; he was the kind of man who gave and gave until there was nothing left of himself and his wants and needs to give. He would forget to pack his own clothes, instead worrying about Viktor.

And Viktor was angry at himself because he should have been the one who packed extra of his own medicine instead of Yuri. Yuri needed to focus on himself more.

He hadn't meant to start a fight with the other man. It hadn't been his intention at all, but after the stress of Yurio and Yakov showing up at his door with the police... Having Yurio cling to him like a scared, lost little boy sobbing out his apologies...

Viktor hadn't known what to do, and those stupid socks...

Viktor opened his palm, running his finger over the healing wound/ He was happy to see that it was entirely closed, now. It was pink and tender but was not likely to split open again. He wouldn't have to worry about it, not right now.

"It seems to be in order. I believe we're done." Viktor turned to look at Anya, then to the other lawyer who was busy pushing himself to his feet, shoving the papers emblazoned with Viktor's signature into his briefcase. The man, all wiry black hair and creaking bones, reached out to shake the other lawyer's hand. "Mrs. Komsky."

Viktor wasn't surprised when the lawyer turned to him and let his hand hang only for a moment before allowing it to drop to his side. "Mr. Nikiforov."

He nodded his head to the lawyer and stood shakily to his own feet, feeling the way the core of him seemed to be so much heavier than before. It was probably the worrying thoughts, the panic and fear over the last week. He was wearing himself ragged with everything and had been doing so since Beijing. He really needed to rest, to just stay home for a week without any reporters snapping pictures from through the curtains or over the fence. He wanted to rest with his head buried in Yuri's hair as they soaked in the _onsen_ until all the aches and pains disappeared.

Viktor avoided Kamkin's eyes as he turned his back on the doctor, but it didn't stop the man from speaking.

"Did you—"

Viktor felt Anya's hand on his shoulder and Viktor winced, readying himself for whatever the doctor was going to say. However, there was a movement that sounded similar to when Anya reached for his shoulder and he wondered if the man's lawyer had done the same. The tension was hot and thick like blood, and Viktor did not want to hear what the other man had to say. There was nothing he could say that would change what had happened. There was no pause button—only play.

And Viktor did not want to look back, to rewind. All he wanted was to go back to Hasetsu, to wrap his arms around Yuri's shoulders and breathe in the smell of his cologne and shampoo.

He wanted to go home.

Viktor took in a deep breath and turned to look at Doctor Kamkin.

He was old and thin and brittle, worn down from time and the harsh Russian winters. Viktor wondered, idly, if he would ever reach the same age. If he did... he wanted to be with Yuri.

Viktor raised his eyebrow to the doctor. Did he wonder if Viktor had told Yuri? Did he infect Mikael? Did he ask Yurio to hit him with the crowbar?

But, the more he looked at Kamkin, the less he wanted to hear what the doctor had to say. The man had done his damage and now, now he would face no consequences for his actions.

Part of Viktor wished that his nose would not heal properly, that it would always just be a little off. It could stand as a reminder of what he had done to Viktor, a constant that Kamkin would see every time he looked in the mirror.

But Kamkin decided not to finish his sentence and Viktor turned his back on the man. This was _done_.

He could go back to Japan.

He could go _home_.

* * *

Viktor wasn't surprised that Yurio was angry, because Yurio was always angry, yet...

"It was the best choice," Viktor began, but Yurio pulled his hand from his pocket and held it out in front of him.

"No. Shut up. It wasn't the best choice! The best choice would have been to—"

"To what? Let you go to prison?" Viktor couldn't hold down his anger, not caring that they were in Yakov's rink, off to the side where any of the other skaters would have been able to overhear. It wasn't as though they all hadn't already an idea of what had happened—they managed to keep it out of the press and Yurio's name off any official documents because he was a minor, though even the police knew that Yurio could have easily been charged at the age of fifteen for what he had done.

Yakov was to thank for that; being a war hero and the top coach in the country gave him more clout than the average Russian… and favors. Yakov knew many people, had many business dealings… and many children whose parents were involved in the upper echelons in St. Petersburg wanted desperately to have their child train under the coach who had given the motherland more gold than the Maiskoye deposits.

"That would have been right— I deserve it you bastard—" his hand swung down to slap at Viktor, but the older man was faster. Even feeling like death was warming over, Viktor was able to handle Yurio.

Viktor smacked Yurio's hand away from him, hearing the sound of skin against skin echo in his ears.

Yurio stared at his open hand, mouth open just enough for Viktor to see the hint of teeth.

"You need to stop that, Yuri. This—this isn't healthy. You need _help_."

"Fuck you, I don't need help—"

" _You almost killed a man_!"

Yurio slammed his eyes shut, bringing his hand down and tucking his chin to his chest. Viktor knew he struck a nerve; the boy's lips were trembling and fine lines pulled at the skin near his mouth. He was too young to have wrinkles worrying at his skin. He was only fifteen. Yurio was just a baby.

"You think I don't know that?" Yurio didn't open his eyes but he reached up, caressing his shoulder. That was the shoulder where the window glass had cut into his jacket, deep into the muscle. The doctor told him to be careful with his jumps until it healed, though Viktor knew Yurio would take what the doctor said only until he knew he wouldn't rip open the wound... then throw it to hell when the Grand Prix came up.

It would have been what Viktor would have done.

"No, I do think you know that... but you aren't accepting it."

Yurio's face twisted into a scowl and he pushed away from Viktor, shoving his hands into his pockets before throwing himself down onto the nearby bench. "How do you know what I'm thinking?"

Viktor stood above Yurio, looking down. There were bruises under his eyes; deep, dark crescents where the skin seemed to have given up in the night, unwilling to close and yet barely able to stay open. Viktor could also see Yurio's hands— the cuts from the glass not healing properly, even though Viktor knew they weren't so deep.

So soft and delicate. Child's hands. Hands that could burn or give comfort...

"I don't know what you're thinking, Yuri. I can't imagine how you feel. But I know what I'm thinking." Viktor sat down on the other end of the bench, leaving a chasm between them. "And what I'm thinking is you're angry and you should be... but you're not handling it the right way."

Yurio snorted. "You act like you're any better—"

"At least I'm not breaking windows and getting myself hurt." At least he hadn't taken a pipe to a doctor, terrible human being or not... but that was not something Viktor dared utter out loud. The teenager was already a mess and Viktor knew better than to push further than Yurio could handle.

Yurio said nothing for a long moment.

"I..."

Yurio stopped.

"Yurio, I consider you my family. You're my brother. There was something I could do and I did it."

"So, that's it then? That bastard gets to keep working and ruining other people's lives and you just sit down and take it like a kicked dog? Is that it, huh?"

It was. That was the agreement, after all— a career in exchange for a life.

"Yuri. Do you think I wanted to give it up? You don't think I wanted to see him suffer?" Viktor clenched his hands together as he turned to Yurio, putting one foot on the bench in front of them. "Do you think I like to give up?"

"You never gave up before, but now that's all you seem to do."

Viktor felt his foot slide off the bench and he didn't have the energy to stop it.

Yurio turned to face him, both staring down through the space between them, too far away to touch but close enough for Viktor to hear the raw emotion from Yurio's voice.

"That's all you do. You give up; you gave up on Kamkin. You gave up on skating. You even tried to give up on Katsudon." Yurio tched and turned his face. "And you gave up on me, too."

If Viktor could explained the sound of a heart breaking, he would have been able to do it with the sound of Yurio's voice. "Yuri..."

Yurio shook his head and pulled out his hands, picking at the scabs. His nails were bitten down to the quick so it was difficult for him to scratch, but he managed all the same. "Part of you died last year, before you left. I saw it but I was too freaked out to ask why. And then... then you left. You didn't come back and I had to... I had try to figure it out. I thought... I thought you got sick of me." His nail managed to make its way between soft, healing flesh and hard scab. "Everyone gets sick of me."

Viktor reached out and grabbed Yurio's hands, pulling them apart. As Yurio got older they rarely touched for anything other than Yurio throwing a punch or for Viktor to help him with his form. Yet here, holding Yurio's hands apart, he realized that it had been so long since he had just hugged Yurio. Maybe it had to do with Yurio's hatred for physical touch, maybe it had to do with Viktor's fear that others would take it the wrong way, but it didn't matter then. It shouldn't have taken a bloody Yurio crying on the floor in his apartment to get Viktor's attention.

"I'm sorry I left. I'm sorry I didn't explain it to you... I didn't know how." It was the truth. "I didn't want you to..."

"To what? Hate you?"

Viktor shook his head and allowed his grip on Yurio's hands to go lax, letting the blond pull his hands away and into his lap. "No. I could have handled you hating me. I just didn't want to disappoint you. I just wanted to stay your hero." Viktor coughed and he tried to not look at Yurio's face.

The words felt strange in his mouth and even stranger on his tongue, but once they were on the air Viktor couldn't have imagined another way to say it. There was nothing else he could have said that would have held the weight he wanted other than that.

 _Hero_.

That was what Viktor had always been to Yurio. It had been all that he was to Yuri until earlier in the year when he arrived in Hasetsu, too. So many people, so many fans, looked at him in that way.

Viktor, the Hero. Viktor, the Victor for Russia. Viktor, the King of the Ice.

Viktor, the Human?

Human Viktor was flawed. He was unsteady and chipped, cracked down the middle and barely held together through will-power and the help of those around him. The last year taught him more about living and loving than he could have ever imagined, and yet there was still the niggling fear and helplessness that caressed his cheek like a lover. Self-doubt was its name, and HIV was its catalyst.

He was Viktor, the man who enjoyed sex and hadn't been careful. He was the fun and flirty free-spirit who jumped through lovers, always searching but rarely staying. He was a playboy, never mean or capricious but never present.

He had made mistakes, too many mistakes. And what has he supposed to do now? What would the people who looked up to him think?

What did Yurio think of him now? Was it true, what he had said before in the cafe? What he said now?

"Do you think I died? That I gave up? That I would give up on you?"

Yurio sat silent for a moment before sighing out his answer. "Yeah. I think you did."

The words stung and Yurio knew it, which made his soft voice hurt all the more, like pouring salt into the wounds.

"You never gave up. You always told me you wanted to be the best skater Russia had ever seen. You wanted to compete in four Olympics. You wanted to win a gold for each one, remember? And then you disappeared and all Yakov could tell me was you saw that video of Katsuki. Fucking _Katsuki_. You know how much that h—pissed me off? You have any idea— you didn't even know who he _was_ and then you were _gone_. You left me for him."

He had abandoned Yurio. It was the truth—he had been so wrapped up in himself, in his disease, and Viktor had never explained...

"And then I fly to Japan and I could tell he was in love with you and it just pissed me off more." Yurio's voice cracked. "I had his pictures on my walls for years and you never asked once who he was. Not once!"

Now, now Viktor could see the pieces of the puzzle coming together and it was a punch to the stomach.

"And you'll play your loverboy game and then what'll you do? You'll leave! Because that's what you always do when shit gets hard and you get scared. Or you'll do something stupid to make the other person leave. You'll be careless and you won't think for a goddamn minute about how other people feel! And now, now you're sick and how am I supposed to feel when you're gone? How do you think _Yuri's_ gunna feel when you're gone and — goddamn it!"

Yurio gave up all pretenses and slammed his foot hard enough on the bench to leave a dent. He smacked his hand against his face to hide the tears, but Viktor knew they were there, hot and fresh like the ones on his own face.

"I'm sorry."

"What if I'm like you?" Yurio's voice trembled. "What if I'm like you and I get sick too?"

Viktor's breath caught in his throat.

"Yuri—"

"No, listen. I... you know how I feel about him. I'm not stupid. He looks at me like I'm a kid. He loves you. But what if I'm like you? Viktor's little shadow," Yurio spit, the tears that had gathered on his lips flying off. "It's no surprise I'm weird. I'm fucked in the head—that's what the shrink said."

"You're not fucked in the head—"

"But I am. They had a doctor sign some papers at the station. Bi-polar. Fucking crazy. Yakov even wants to put me on drugs like some dopehead."

Viktor turned from Yurio and sighed, letting his shoulders slide down. He was just so tired. What would he had given to be Yurio's age again? To do a redo on his life. Most of it he didn't regret; not the lovers, not the drinking, even not the hours of working his body to the bone.

He regretted the lack of foresight. He regretted his inability to see that he was human and that he was bound to make a mistake... and this mistake?

"Yuri, if you have a problem and Yakov thinks that medication may help... it isn't a bad idea. At least talking to someone... maybe it will help. Even if it's just your grandpa. He loves you. He'll always love you."

Viktor took a breath and released if from his nose. "Yuri. I'm bisexual. I like men, too. And... That's... that's okay." Even saying it was hard. Not that he had difficulty accepting who he was; he had come to terms with that a long time before. No, it was having to see the blond kid in front of him with the heavy burden.

"Did you love Imani?"

"Of course I did."

"And then you pushed her away. Just like you push everyone away."

It was the truth, but to be fair she had, too. They were not made for one another—too similar. That fire had burned itself out faster than they could have expected.

"And if I... if I don't like women?" Viktor could not think of another time where Yurio's voice seemed so small. "That just makes me more fucked up, right?"

If Yurio could have twisted his body to take up any less space, Viktor would have been able to see straight through him. "You can like whoever you like, Yuri. Man or woman. You need to grow up and become a man that you are proud of... that Yuri would be proud of. Know that I'll love you all the same. Yakov will, too."

Yurio stuck out his chin defiantly, "That's bullsh—"

"Has he ever said he hated me?" Viktor watched the blond's chin droop down. "And not his usual ranting of how he hates everyone and that we're all trying to plot him into an early grave."

Yurio didn't even crack a smile.

Viktor sighed and reached up to run a hand through his hair. "Yakov won't hate you. No one here would hate you if you were whoever you wanted to be."

"And if I'm like you?"

"Then you're like me." Viktor thought for a moment and turned his head, pretending he could not see Yurio furiously scrubbing at his face. "Just... don't make the mistakes I did. I... I guess I didn't think about the future. Not any further than the Olympics and PyeongChang. I didn't even think about what I would do when my competitive career ended."

Before seeing Yuri on that Youtube video, before realizing that all the desperation and pain and loneliness he felt was inside someone else, he had never thought about coaching. It was always thinking of the next season, then the next medal, then the next championship and then training and coming up with new routines. His love life exploded into flames and both times had rocked him to the core, and if he hadn't gotten sick Viktor wasn't sure what he would have done the past year. It was true that his motivation had been waning, but there was always PyeongChang.

But now? Now he had Yuri. He had something so wonderful and terrifying, and Viktor closed his eyes just so he could imagine Yuri. What was Yuri doing at that moment? Viktor wondered if he was skating at Ice Castle or napping in. Maybe he was sitting in the dining room with his family, sneaking pieces of katsudon to Makkachin under the table.

Maybe waking up in the morning may have been terrifying in the beginning, but there was a constant in his life.

He said as much to Yurio, whose face was blotchy and red, but had managed to regain some of his composure. Viktor never would have mentioned it either way.

"We learn from our mistakes, Yuri. We learn and we try our best to not make the same mistake next time. We try not to let the people we love make those same mistakes." He knew there were tears staining his cheeks but he chose not to wipe them away. Let that moment be where Viktor the Human taught something to Yurio.

"Whatever you're going through, you aren't alone. I'm not going to leave you. I don't want to die. I want to live. I want to—"

 _I want to skate._

Viktor closed his mouth and took a deep breath in, letting its slowly unfurl from his lips.

It was the truth.

He was born to be on the ice. It was his first love. Even more than a first love, Viktor had his last love. Yuri. Yet...

"Want to what?"

"I think... I think I want my swan song."

* * *

Feeling Yuri's arms around him was like coming home.

"I'm sorry about the socks," Viktor murmured into Yuri's ear, happy to see that no one had managed to follow Yuri to the Fukuoka Airport. It was late in the afternoon, the sun already dusting the sky with shades of pinks and blues, yet Viktor felt like it was midnight. His body was painful and the cough that plagued him the last few days seemed to only get worse. Yet, for that moment as he breathed in that smell he could only pin-point as being something that was so distinctly Yuri, he allowed himself to rest.

The entire plane ride all Viktor could think of was Yuri. How would he apologize? What could he say as explanation for his anger—that the stupid socks were nothing but socks and that Viktor was worried that he would be the own end and destruction of their relationship?

It was so hard to think of anything but Yuri, anything other than making sure that he memorized the feeling of Yuri's cheek against his own. He wanted to stay like that forever, but they both knew it wasn't possible and Viktor was already half-dead on his feet.

"Yurio still okay?"

Viktor pulled away and coughed, shoving his face into his scarf.

"He's gunna be okay. Just... a lot for him to work on." They had spoken every night after Viktor had met with Yurio, Viktor not caring that he was running up an enormous bill. It didn't matter because he could listen to Yuri fall asleep, that soothing sound of breath reminding Viktor to take a breath himself. Even if they didn't talk, ost of it due to the anger from the petty fight, Yuri had never denied him the call.

Viktor coughed again and Yuri reached over to pull down his scarf.

"That's... that doesn't sound good."

Viktor shook his head. "Probably not."

"You told me if you were still feeling sick we would go to the doctor—"

"You don't want to bother Doctor Fujimoto about this—" But Yuri raised one finger to Viktor's lips and then dug through his pocket, pulling out the phone.

"Please... just for my sake."

This was the same thing they had fought about earlier, about the caring more for Viktor than for himself, but... Yurio had shed more light on the scenario than he had thought about with himself.

Had it been Yurio who was sick... Had it been Yuri...

Viktor would have been the same way.

He didn't want to purposely shove Yuri away. No, not at all. If anything he wanted to jealously covet Yuri and keep him to himself, to not share him with anyone.

"There may be time today... Mari won't mind."

Viktor took the phone and entered in his own birthday, ignoring the feeling of butterflies as he did so, and pulled up Yuri's contacts. He stared at them blankly.

"They're in Japanese..." Not just Japanese, but mostly kanji. While Viktor had mastered the hiragana and some of the katakana, kanji left him with the distinct feeling of terror.

Yuri blinked, then he laughed, raising one hand to scratch at the back of his head. "Sorry about that—here, let me—"

Viktor handed over the phone back to Yuri, who quickly managed to find the correct contact and call for him, using Japanese on the phone to schedule a quick appointment.

"We're only a few minutes away," Yuri said as he ended the call and offered the phone back to Viktor. "And he said it was a good idea. I told him about your cough; he said it might be the flu or pneumonia. They want to get a sample. They also got your results from your last test."

Viktor bit back the urge to say something, to complain about what Yuri did— it was part of his need to push everyone away. Wasn't that what Yurio said?

Despite the truth in his words, Viktor understood them and he wanted... he wanted to be able to say without a doubt...

What did he want to say?

He depended on Yuri? That wasn't it. He had depended on people before; as a child he had depended upon Yakov after his parents died. Later, he depended on Lilia to teach him, for his skates to ground him.

 _No_. Depending on someone was not the word he was looking for.

He trusted Yuri. With everything in him, he trusted Yuri. And that ledge, the chasm that opened up below their feet—Viktor knew that if he fell in, Yuri would reach out his hand to catch him.

"I love you."

Yuri smiled, wide, his entire face brightening in the glow. "And I love you."

Yuri wiggled the phone into his pocket and took Viktor's hand with the other. "Makkachin's in the car—the airport wouldn't let me bring him in. But I think he missed you a lot. We both did."

"And I missed you both. Did you get any practice done while I was in Russia...?" Viktor wanted to tell Yuri about his decision, but at that moment it didn't feel right. He needed to wait.

They continued their conversation to the car, never once letting go of their hands.

* * *

The receptionist, Mariko-chan, seemed to brighten when Yuri and Viktor walked in. Makkachin anxiously padded his way between their legs, though both of them had gotten well accustomed to avoiding the humiliating fall when Makkachin got too wrapped around them. It seemed the poodle could sense that something was wrong, but the half-Japanese woman filled a bowl of water and allowed the dog to drink as Viktor and Yuri headed into the office.

"Viktor. It's good you came in today. We received your last blood results last week, but when I tried to call your number I wasn't able to leave a message. I... I'm sorry to have seen what happened on the news." Doctor Fujimoto looked up to him through his glasses, his frown worried deep into the lines around his mouth. "I assure you that this clinic takes privacy seriously. We will never divulge any medical information without your consent. Please, have a seat. Try to make yourselves comfortable."

It was a comfort to hear, even though Viktor trusted Doctor Fujimoto far more than he had ever trusted Kamkin... Doctor Fujimoto had always been honest and kind, but his words helped to ease the pit of tension deep inside his belly.

"I saw your dog?"

"Makkachin," Yuri answered sheepishly. "I didn't know if it was okay to bring him in. My sister wanted to run into a local department store... I didn't want to leave him in the car." It had taken a long while for Yuri to feel comfortable using English with the doctor, but after having spent the last few months together answering any questions Yuri could come up with, he seemed more at home asking questions that Viktor was.

"It's quite alright. I'm sure Mariko-chan doesn't mind the company." The smile that had begun to pull its way across his mouth slowly disappeared. "And I am terribly sorry to taint your return home with this... but it is quite serious."

Viktor grabbed hold of Yuri's hand, tightening his grip. Yuri's grip was even tighter, if possible.

Viktor didn't like the sound of the doctor's voice.

"What is it?"

Doctor Fujimoto looked up at him, taking off his glasses. "Well, I'm afraid it isn't good news."

Viktor's mouth went dry.

"Unfortunately I think you've built up a resistance to your medication. It happens, on occasion. Have you been missing any doses?"

Viktor looked from Yuri to his doctor, shaking his head vehemently. "No. Never. I always take my medicine. Always."

How could this possibly have happened? He hadn't been feeling well for weeks, but was that an indicator? Had this been his fault?

"I'd... I'd been sick for a few weeks. Tired, mostly..." Viktor trailed off, looking up to Yuri.

"That was more likely the flu you seem to have caught. Have you been having diarrhea? Vomiting?"

Viktor tried to think—the stomach pain was a constant, but vomiting...

"Yes. I... after Yuri left Russia. I think it was the stress..."

Viktor felt Yuri's hand tighten against his grip.

"Unfortunately we took your blood a few weeks before. What happened in Russia is unlikely to have affected your resistance."

"Then what did I do wrong? Did I not take it right? Did I make a mistake?" Viktor could feel Yuri's hand on his but his head was going fuzzy and the panic, that deep-rooted panic he hadn't felt since that night in the airport began to rear its ugly head and Viktor only realized how tightly he had gripped Yuri's hand when Yuri let out a pained grunt.

"Shit, sorry, sorry..." Viktor immediately let go of Yuri's hand. He gently tried to run his fingers over where he could see pink marks against Yuri's skin.

"Please, calm down Viktor. You didn't do anything wrong."

Didn't do anything wrong? How was it possible for the doctor to stand there and say that there was nothing wrong when his medication wasn't working? And he had allowed Yuri to touch him with so much virus inside of him...

"Viktor, this happens sometimes. You were on the medication for too long— I should have taken you off when you didn't go undetectable in your first six months. There was still more of the virus in your blood and I hoped that it was due to your compromised immune system." The doctor did not reach out to touch him. "Did your previous doctor run a genotypic test when you were diagnosed?"

"Huh? A what?"

"Did your original doctor wait to put you on medication until receiving a test or did he immediately put you on medication?"

The pill-bottles lining his kitchen counter. The little pieces of paper crumpled on the table next to his affidavit...

"He gave them to me when I was diagnosed. He got my test from another doctor I went to for my pneumonia..." What had they done with his blood was anyone's guess.

"Then you don't know?" The man's voice wasn't accusatory but still Viktor felt a weight on his shoulders at his inability to answer.

He looked to Yuri who had once against reached out to run his fingertips across Viktor's hand, then back to the doctor.

"No, sir." He shook his head. "And Doctor Marks kept me on the medication Kamkin put me on."

Doctor Fujimoto nodded. "I spoke with her; she said your original records were in Russian and she had never gotten it fully translated. I think we all made a mistake, Viktor."

Viktor swallowed and allowed himself to focus on Yuri's hand on his.

"What does this mean for Viktor?" the other man asked. "Is he going to be okay?"

"These things do happen. It isn't unheard of for a resistance to build up or be present in someone's strain. This is why it is so important to run the test at the beginning to help implement the most active treatment." the doctor stood from his chair and motioned for Viktor and Yuri to follow him into the small room where Viktor had long ago become acquainted with the chair and the young nurse who never missed a vein. "We're going to need a sample—I can also take a standard HIV test from Yuri, if he'd like."

Viktor understood the implication. They had spent so much time talking about how sex would be possible, no doubt Doctor Fujimoto assumed that they were already to that point.

"I..."

Viktor stopped and looked to Yuri, who was situated behind him.

"I don't really like needles, but... Yeah. I'll do it."

They both knew that there was no possible way for Yuri to have gotten it, even if Viktor had nightmares about it... Yet, here he was, taking off his winter jacket, slinging it into the small plastic bin nearby. And despite his comment of not liking needles, he was smiling. It wasn't a very comforting smile, but it was something nonetheless.

Doctor Fujimoto stayed with both of them as the nurse drew their blood, continuing his conversation.

"We'll be taking you off your medication until the test results come back—it usually takes a week or two but I want us to get started on your new regimen immediately. I hate to do this when you are getting ready for your big competition... the Grand Price?"

"Prix," Yuri corrected as he turned his head away from the nurse wiping down his arm. Viktor couldn't bear to look either as Yuri's blood began to fill the tube.

"Hn, Grand Prix. We all plan on watching. Have to support a Kyushu man, after all."

Viktor watched Yuri grimace through an attempt at a smile.

 _Drip. Drip. Drip._

The doctor turned back to Viktor, "But taking you off your medication now may save us a headache in the future if you haven't built up a resistance... especially if I have to give you a round of antibiotics if it's pneumonia again instead of the flu. Your immune system is going to take a beating, but I'd rather do it now than wait. I can rush the labs and we may be able to find an alternative drug to put you as soon as possible. I am sorry but I need to watch you so I wouldn't recommend going to Barcelona—"

"No."

Viktor wasn't sure whose head snapped faster— Doctor Fujimoto's or Yuri's.

"It's less than a week away—" He had lost so much time being stuck in Russia and the Grand Prix was only six days away. They were leaving in only a few days. There was no way that Viktor was going to be laid up in bed sick because he went off his medication and onto another one. "I was sick for weeks after going on those pills. I just... Kamkin won't take this from Yuri. I won't do it."

Doctor Fujimoto sighed. "I understand, Viktor. I do. But I need you to come off the medication now if there is any chance that you haven't started a resistance to them. We can wait to put you on the new pills until you're back, but I am going to be honest with you; if your cough gets worse..."

"Will it kill me?"

"No, I highly doubt it'll kill you. You still have some immune response," the doctor admitted, "but if it does become pneumonia you may end up with more damage to your lungs. You have a fair amount of scarring as it is. I don't know if you wanted to go back to skating, but if you do I recommend starting the new regimen and staying in Japan."

Viktor looked to Yuri, the Yuri who was letting his blood seep into a little plastic tube that both of them knew he didn't need to do, but doing it nonetheless. It was his Yuri, the one who didn't pack enough socks but too many pills and rested his head on Viktor's chest to listen to his heartbeat.

"Then I'm going."

"Viktor—"

Viktor held up his hand to Yuri, showing his scarred palm, pink skin knit together like a reminder. "Can we be scared together, Yuri?"

 _Can we be scared together?_

Yuri didn't make a sound as the nurse removed the needle from his arm, putting a Pokemon band-aid over the puncture.

Viktor put his hand down in front of him, holding it out for the nurse.

" _Vikku_..."

"Viktor did not want to look at Yuri, because he didn't want Yuri to think about him. No, he wanted Yuri to be selfish about this. He wanted Yuri to understand that to him, skating was important, it was the biggest part of his life before Yuri.

 _Before Yuri._

But now...

Things had changed. The last year, the time he had spent with Yuri while learning to care for himself and to love another person—truly and deeply fall in love with another— was enough for Viktor to realize that life was more than his skates. It was more than being selfish, more than caring only for himself and his wants.

Sitting on that bench with Yurio, listening to the boy's harsh breaths... that had truly given him pause. He did run away when he was scared. He gave up on things. Not when they were hard—no, that would have been logical. He gave up on them when they got too close to him. The only thing he hadn't ever given up on was skating, and now it was almost a cosmic joke that gave him his two options.

Yurio was going to be furious with him if he fucked it up and ended up not at least trying for PyeongChang, but Viktor knew the truth.

No matter his swan song, he needed Yuri more than he needed skating.

It was almost terrifying enough to make Viktor want to run away and hide, but at the same time it was thrilling. He knew he could live without his swan song, no matter how much he wanted it. The ice would always be his first love. He had already said his goodbyes to it.

Yet, like he knew the ice was his first, he also knew Yuri would be his last.

And that knowledge made his decision so much easier. Yuri's heart was made of glass, glued back in place with the fragility of hope and determination. Viktor had helped put the pieces back together, to make Yuri the man he knew he could be. But Viktor knew that had he been given enough time, Yuri would have managed it on his own.

Viktor knew that without Yuri, he never would have left his apartment. He would have given up. He had lost his reason for living. He had fallen into that depression that caused the muscles in his body to barely be able to hold him up. Those days of crawling on the floor, wishing for death. The crippling depression, the wish for it all to end. The terror and fear.

And then Yuri came, like a breath of spring air. It wasn't fair to Yuri to be so dependent, but he couldn't help it. He had found his reason for living, the thing that had pulled him back from the brink.

And Viktor was not willing to give it up.

The nurse slid the needle into his arm and he closed his eyes, listening to Yuri ask Doctor Fujimoto an array of questions that Viktor knew he would need to listen to, but for now he just wanted to listen to Yuri's voice. It was selfish, but Viktor knew that. Yuri knew that about him and loved him anyway.

So, Viktor blindly reached out his hand to the side as he listened to Yuri's voice and the blood hitting the tube, and he felt those warm fingers wrap around his without a word.

* * *

Yuri won Silver, Yurio won Gold by .12 points, and Viktor had never been prouder of either of them.

He knew Yuri was disappointed, could clearly see it in the way he sobbed as Viktor held him close, not daring to let go. He could hear it in his apology to Viktor, in how he hadn't been able to do it. He hadn't been good enough. He hadn't kept his promise.

"But you were, you were," Viktor murmured into Yuri's ear, not caring about the others who may have been watching.

"I failed you."

"Never." He wrapped his arms more around Yuri, feeling the warmth of his skin through his costume. He has been beautiful, so beautiful, on the ice. He had told his story with his body, of the whispering crescendos and the moment of emptiness where the strings disappeared and the piano, Yuri, was left on his own. And as he turned, as he jumped, as he obliterated Viktor's World Record.

"You beat me— you surpassed me."

"And it was only good enough for silver."

"No, Yuri, love... It means that you still have more to fight for. You can—"

Viktor tried to pull back as a cough racked through his chest—it was bad, but it was nothing like before, when it felt like his lungs were trying to claw their way up and out of his chest. Yet as he did so he realized that Yuri had his arms wrapped around them too tightly for him to push away.

"We should move somewhere warm... away from them."

Viktor could see the lightbulbs flashing from above and all around them and Viktor knew that Yuri was right.

"Do you mind if I kiss you? I don't want to get you sick, but..."

Yuri sniffed and wiped at his face, blotchy and red from the tears. "A little cold is nothing," he commented. "But the question is if you want your face covered in tea— _umph_."

Viktor knew the vultures were watching, that they would be focusing on every angle of their kiss. And he wanted the to see, because they would never get to feel that way, they would never get the chance to feel Yuri's love, because it was all for him and he felt like he was floating despite the cold concrete or the constant tickle at his throat.

" _Oi_! Can't you two get a goddamn room! Not everyone wants to see you acting like dogs in heat!"

Viktor pulled his mouth away from Yuri, turning his head to the side to look at Yurio.

Yurio was steadfastly avoiding looking at Yuri, though he could see that the boy wanted to. After what happened before, after what Yurio had told him... Viktor felt a trickle of shame. He had done something to Yurio, had broken a little piece of Yurio that he could never fix. A little Yuri-sized piece...

"Sorry, Yuri," Yuri said as he wiped his face. He pulled himself off of Viktor, making sure to help Viktor off the ground before reaching out a hand for Yurio to shake. "Congratulations. You were amazing."

The pink and black of his costume at that moment truly made Viktor think of fire. That fire could burn, but could also warm and sooth away the cold. It could be a weapon or the touch of comfort. It was up to Yurio to choose what kind of man he would become.

And Yurio reached forward to take the other Yuri's hand.

"You too, Yuri."

It was small, but it was a start. It was a beautiful start.

And then Viktor coughed again.

" _Oi_ , old man. Can you stop trying to get us all sick? I got nationals in two weeks—" and Yurio slammed his mouth shut, slowly removing his hand from Yuri's. "I didn't mean it like that."

"I know you didn't. Sorry," Viktor muttered as he pulled out a handkerchief, holding it over his mouth. He should have packed some of those disposable masks that were so popular in Japan. He wondered, idly, if Yuri had kept some in his own luggage.

The air became uncomfortable and Viktor wished they could simply escape, but doing so would have not been fair to Yurio.

 _Yurio.._.

The night before, after Yurio had taken a sledgehammer to his Short Skate's World Record, he had gotten a hold of blond boy. He wanted to make sure the boy understood that it had been important to him, that he was proud of him... that he was happy to see his World Record broken, because it only gave him more strength to get back on the ice.

And he did, he truly did.

When he got back to Japan he didn't care what he would have to do, he was going to skate. He would push himself to the limits, he would take the medicine that Doctor Fujimoto gave him, and he would try his best to not let his cough turn into anything more serious because he needed his lungs for that.

It was all so confusing, and that terrified Viktor more than he cared to admit, even to himself. While growing up his only goal had been to make Yakov and his parents proud of him. As he got older it became more about proving something to himself. Now, though, it was about Yuri and Yurio. It was about not letting either of them down. It was about fighting...

And he had fought hard, hadn't he? On and off the ice.

But he wasn't done. Not yet.

"So. The Russian Nationals... I don't think I'll make them this year, but after the Worlds... I think I want to come back... For PyeongChang."

One final season. One last swan song.

Viktor looked to Yuri, whose face had gone pale. He hadn't said anything about it to Yuri before now, and from the heartbroken look his lover gave him, Viktor realized he had misspoken.

"Yuri, would you want to come to Russia with me? I know it's cold and Yakov's loud, or... Maybe we can stay in Japan, maybe it's safer—I dunno if I can skate without Yakov coaching me, but..." Viktor realized that his words were panicked, but he didn't know what else he could say. "I want to do this with you. I want one last season. I want to be your coach, I want us to win together."

When everything around his health seemed to be so shitty, where his lungs were a mess and his medicine wasn't working the way it was supposed to, Viktor knew he should have been worried about other things. He should have been worried about his viral load, about his CD4 count, about the opportunistic infections. He knew that Yuri was worried about them as well.

Yet... he had spent the last year in fear. He had spent some of it in solitude, the most important moments in Yuri's light. Viktor knew he was a selfish man, knew that he took more than maybe he deserved, but it was something that he knew he had to... he had to...

He had the right to life. He had the right to happiness. And if could skate, if his lungs were okay and he could do it, Viktor knew that he wanted to try.

He wanted one last chance. He wanted the world to give him everything, and though he knew it was asking too much, he did it anyway. After all of that fear...

Hadn't he earned the chance to be happy? Didn't he have the right to smile, just like everyone else? Didn't he have a right to come to terms with the future, a future that was so uncertain it made Viktor's eyes hurt like he was staring into the sun?

"If you don't want to Yuri, tell me. What you say matters."

 _What you say is everything._

For a long moment Yuri said nothing. The hair growing out around his cheeks was wet from the sweat and his tears, sticking to his skin. Viktor couldn't help but to reach out and tuck the hair behind his ear. His own personal Monet, he had whispered once upon a time. His beautiful masterpiece, the one that spoke to him in ways nothing else could or would again.

They should have waited where there were no press, where they could have had this conversation without the pressure of the lights and the cold and the tear tracks down both their faces.

"As long as we're together... then I'll support you. I'll always support you."

Too many people were watching, the flashes were blinding and Yurio gagging next to them would no doubt lead to a headache later on from listening to the boy rant and rave about public displays of affection, but in that moment Viktor just wrapped his arms around Yuri again, pulling him close. He rested their foreheads together, letting the tip of his nose rest against his lover's.

"And I'll always support you, Yuri. Thank you."

* * *

" _Vitya_ , there is someone here who wants to see you."

Viktor had taken the recommended cough suppressant dosage and knew that it was a bad idea to mix alcohol and the medicine, but seeing the man in front of him made him wish that he could have broken his sobriety.

"Yakov... I'm here with Yuri. Maybe Mr. Stenin would rather wait until after the banquet."

The banquets were always so stuffy, and Viktor would have given his right arm to have been literally anywhere else. Curled up in his hotel room with Yuri at his side would have been the best choice, but he would have happily have taken getting set on fire in exchange for not being anywhere near Oleg Stenin.

"Viktor, Viktor! No kind words for me? The information about your condition was quite surprising, though it is good to see that you seem well enough."

The man reminded Viktor of the old American comedies where you could tell the villain even before his name was announced. It would have been a terribly cruel comparison if it hadn't be so accurate. Viktor could see right through him with his slick graying hair, pointed cheeks, too expensive suit and patterned tie. It was black and blue pinstripes, this time.

Last time had been red. Just _red_.

"Thank you Mr. Stenin. I assure you I feel very well. Now, where did Yuri go—"

Viktor looked to Yakov who looked as uncomfortable as Viktor felt. Neither of them had ever been comfortable with Stenin, though always as polite as they needed to be. It was no secret that Stenin's ties to the Kremlin were no doubt as strong as his ties to the FFKKR... and whispers of other, more clandestine groups. In all his time skating, Viktor had never lowered himself to anything to do with Stenin, always preferring to leave the business to Yakov who was more than competent in handling his skaters' affairs.

Now that the man was staring down Viktor he realized far too late that he had taken the protection Yakov offered as his coach for granted.

"I'm sure your student can wait—" the contempt on the lilt of student did not pass by unnoticed, "—especially when I heard the good news that you plan on returning to skating." The man smiled in a way that looked more like a hyena going for the throat of a wounded antelope. "The Living Legend, Russia's own Viktor Nikiforov, returning to the rink yet again."

Viktor swallowed and tried to not begin to nervously pick at his coat. It was not surprising that the vice president of the FFKKR, the Figure Skating Federation of Russia, would want to speak with him about returning to the ice, especially after having taken a year off. Yet Viktor knew it was more than that. This conversation was more than just a friendly welcome home.

"Yes, if I can return for one more season, to prepare for the Olympics—"

"Oh, _Viktor_." Stenin clicked his tongue and bent his neck to the side. "I'm sorry to be the bringer of bad news, but the Federation isn't sure that you will be able to return to skating for the Russian team any time soon."

Viktor blinked and turned to Yakov who, thankfully, seemed as shocked as Viktor felt. Oh, how the tables had turned...

"I thought you wanted to talk to Viktor about his return to skating—" Yakov began, but Stenin smiled genially, folding his hands in front of him. He looked far too pleased with himself.

"Oh, I am sure so many of Viktor's fans were devastated by your choice to not return to the rink this year. And then more about the scandals that have cropped up since last year... running off to become a coach? Not calling all of his sponsors?" His mouth widened and Viktor could see his back teeth. "Not even telling his own figure skating federation what was going on…"

Stenin always spoke in a way that made Viktor's teeth set on edge and grinding only gave brief respite. Always speaking as though he wasn't there, always above him...

But Viktor knew the truth when Stenin glanced over to Yuri and Yurio, both sitting at a table in a distant corner, looking at Yuri's phone. Whatever it was must have been nice because both of them were smiling, so wide and open and honest.

"I had a lot going on… I needed time."

He needed time to think, to realize what was going on into the future. He needed the ability to sort through the catastrophe he had thrown his life into.

He had tried his best.

"And now I hear you want to return for another season to make it to the Russian Olympic team?" Stenin questioned, and his gaze was harsher than the heat from camera flashes from earlier.

"I want to compete for my country." He did, but more than that…

He wanted to compete for himself.

Stenin shook his head.

"Oleg, Viktor is the best skater we have ever had. He is a living legend; you said so yourself. It makes no sense to take away such a strong asset from our team… if you do want Russia to come home with Gold."

"Oh, I have no doubt we will win Gold with Yuri. He seems to be such a fine asset to our sport. Perhaps even better than you, wouldn't you say, Viktor?"

Viktor looked to the two at the table. They had both beaten his records… and with more time, Viktor was sure that they would break their own records again… and then each others'.

"Yes."

Viktor didn't want to continue the conversation; his head was fuzzy and he wanted to go back to his hotel room with Yuri. He didn't want to stand in that room, sharing pleasantries with people like Stenin whose only reason for not spitting on his was that other people would have seen.

PyeongChang…

"And you know, Viktor… It is so terribly difficult to get a Visa into South Korea with HIV."

Viktor's mouth went dry.

"Viktor—" Yakov began, but Stenin cut him off.

"Of course, your doctor came out just the other day, saying the information was a fabrications. As of now, there hasn't been any official word on your… _condition_."

There hadn't? Viktor turned to Yakov, whose neck was turning red around the collar.

"The press has no right sticking their nose into Viktor's business."

Stenin sneered. "Have you seen the magazines this week, Viktor? The artist married to that soccer player friend of yours seems to be having some trouble with the press. Now it seems people believe she's digging for money from your friend. Terrible news, that is."

"She didn't do anything—"

"One of those trashy magazines ran rather lewd photos of her from her college years in Vienna. It wouldn't be surprising if the tables turned yet again for you, Viktor. You always seem to have fortunes favoring you."

It didn't matter what Natalya had done in her younger years, how crazy she may have been. Viktor had been the same and there was no way to know who infected whom. What he knew was that there was a virus in him, the same virus in her now… And yet, even knowing that, Viktor felt an insurmountable amount of guilt because in that moment, just for a moment, Viktor could have pretended.

Hadn't that been his dream? To be free of the disease? Even if it were only hiding it away from the outside world while fighting it on the inside. He could have done it. It would have been possible.

"But I do have HIV."

Stenin briskly laughed. "And here I thought you wanted to come back—"

"Viktor, I think it may be best if you went back with Yuri…"

"Ah, yes. Your student. The federation has been looking into your contract. Did you know there is a morality clause in your contract? We're willing to forgive your indescretion, but of course there would need to be an end to your coaching career."

 _No_.

"Actually, Yakov, I think it would be in your student's best interests if he forgoes any further escapades or deviancy if he wants to continue to skate under the Russian flag. And perhaps it would be best for all of your skaters to remember who pays for their careers. Even you, Viktor. Those contracts you signed…"

Viktor gripped his hands, feeling the bite of his nails on his skin, but on reflex he opened his palms wide and laid them flat at his sides.

 **No**.

"No."

Stenin did not seem startled, though Viktor wished he had screamed the words into the man's face.

"No?"

Viktor looked to Yakov, then back to Stenin.

"You do not threaten Yuri and you do not threaten me. You don't want me to skate under the flag for Russia— _Fine_."

He wasn't sure what had motivated him to do it; he hadn't had even a sip of champagne and it hadn't been the cough medicine. Perhaps it had to do with the glances from the other patrons and sponsors, the way the other skaters would occasionally glance at him from across the banquet hall. These people had been his competitors, yes, but more than that, some of them had been his friends.

Viktor coughed and watched as heads swiveled as if on cue. Hundreds of eyes staring at him and yet he could only look to Yuri, who slowly stood from his chair, Yurio rising with him, confusion painted across both their faces.

Viktor idly noticed a few phone cameras. Good.

It was time he said something.

"I would like to congratulate my rinkmate, Yuri Plisetsky, for his Gold medal win." Viktor saw a waiter nearby and called the man over, taking a flute of champagne. He could hear the bubbles pop against the cold glass. "I have seen him become an amazing skater, and I wish him the best of luck in the future. He has always been like family, and I want to see nothing but a flourishing and prosperous career in the senior division."

There was a light clapping and Viktor gave a brief nod to Yurio who stood stock-still. The smattering of applause came to an end, and Viktor managed to catch one of the people taking video—Christophe— and frown. He hoped the man would understand.

"And I would like to congratulate the love of my life, my partner, and my student, Yuri Katsuki, for his Silver medal win."

Another round of light applause—none of this was surprising; their kisses on the ice and off the ice had already circulated around the globe. Everyone knew about their romance, just as well as they knew about his disease. Or thought they knew of his disease. After all, he had never once spoken openly about it...

"But more than that, I want to thank Yuri for standing by my side, even when I made it difficult for him to do so. He gave me a reason to live when I had none. He helped to give me hope. You see—" and Viktor's voice waivered.

Viktor looked to Yakov who was hissing something at Stenin. He wished he could have consulted Yakov, but he knew what Yakov would have said. He would have called Viktor a fucking moron, told him to shut his fucking trap and let him handle it _goddamn it_ , did Viktor want to drive him into an early grave? And even then he would have gotten angry, but then would have calmed down enough for Viktor to remember that Yakov had never abandoned him, even at his worst.

"You see," Viktor repeated, trying to pull strength from the moments over the past year. It was hard to say to Yakov, hard to say to Yuri, hard to say to Yurio… and in comparison, this was simple.

This was easier, because the people he cared about already knew.

They would stay with him.

"I was diagnosed with HIV earlier this year—" there was the sound of a few people shuffling, but Viktor tried to pay them no mind "—and at first I was terrified. I thought my career was finished, that I would die at any time. And my coach, Yakov, helped pull me up, but I have always been stubborn. He always told me it was my best and worst quality… But then I saw this video that was sent to me by so many of you—" Viktor looked around to the audience, seeing some of the faces staring back with soft, sad smiles. Even JJ and his fiancee were quiet. "And I felt something I hadn't felt in so long."

Viktor looked away from the faces and toward the face that mattered the most. "Yuri helped to give me a reason to keep fighting, gave me a place to put my hopes and my dreams. He has helped to make me the man I am today, and for that I will always be grateful. Yuri, I love you."

Viktor raised his glass toward the two Yuris, noticing that a few in the audience did not. There was nothing he could do about them; this was more than that. More than them.

"But most of all, I would like to thank the Vice President of the Figure Skating Federation of Russia tonight. I planned on announcing my plans to come out of retirement to skate one last season in preparation for the PyeongChang Olympics next year, but it seems that Mr. Oleg Stenin would prefer to make his own announcement."

At the admittance of his plans to return to the ice the audience seemed to erupt in excited whispers, but Viktor held up his empty hand to try and bring the volume down. "Mr. Stenin?" Viktor questioned. He wondered if his face had his contempt written as plainly as he wanted it to for the others to see. "Don't you want to tell the others what you told me?"

Stenin's mouth was slightly open, eyes a bit wider than they had a moment before, and Viktor revelled in that moment for longer than he should have.

After the pause, Viktor turned back to the audience. He hoped his language skills would give him the ability to share the news. "It seems Mr. Stenin has gotten shy all of a sudden. It wasn't just a minute ago where he told me that the morality clause in my contract was breached and that if I wanted to skate under the flag of my country that I would need to leave my lover. Right?"

It was beautiful how that word rolled off his tongue. Lover. Lover. He could have said it another hundred times and never have tired of it.

"Or would you rather tell them that I should keep my HIV status secret and lie about it? That I should purposely hurt others so that I can perform?"

Viktor could see Stenin's face turning purple, the vein in his head throbbing like a spider against his translucent skin. Perhaps had had gone too far, perhaps he had opened up one can of worms too many. A year of silence and quiet had built and built, the anger and pain having no escape and if that moment was his explosion, if it was his Pompeii, then Viktor would make it a beautiful and glorious end.

If he lost, then so be it.

Viktor would fight until the end.

"So," Viktor raised his glass toward Stenin, the only thing he could think of being how alike Stenin looked to Kamkin, "cheers to you, Vice President."

Viktor took a sip of the champagne and put the glass back on the table, surprised that the force he used did not shatter the glass.

Viktor looked back up at those still staring, some wide-eyed and gaping.

"If my body will let me, I will be at PyeongChang… and I will do it with Yuri at my side."

Viktor reached out his hand, not caring that Stenin already had his phone out. There would be consequences for what he had said, but he would not allow anyone to threaten Yuri, to threaten what he had fought tooth and nail for….

No. What they had fought tooth and nail for.

Holding out his hand, so similar to that first meeting in the onset, Viktor reached. He reached for Yuri, reached for the person who had reminded him that life was worth living, that he had so much more that he needed to do.

He couldn't give up.

And Yuri rushed forward, nearly knocking into a few of the onlookers as he grabbed Viktor's hand and pulled the other man close, letting their bodies come together in a comfort that Viktor had only felt before as his mama and papa hoisted him into their arms and spun him around and around. He could almost hear their laughter in the air as Viktor turned with Yuri in his arms, not caring that he was crying or that the cell phone cameras were still pointed at them. Let them take the video, let them show the world his love.

He wouldn't hide. He wouldn't mourn.

Not anymore.

* * *

 **Please Review!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Author notes:** I decided not to use too much Japanese in certain sections, simply because I know I hate when I am reading a story and the person drops in languages I may not understand. While I live in Japan and speak Japanese on the daily, a lot of my readers don't, so I have opted for simple italicized conversation. I also want to make sure to keep the conversation very simple- Viktor isn't native or even very good at speaking Japanese. I find it laughable that people think you can become fluent in a language in a few months, even a full year when you are busy with everything else that goes with life— unless you have a good six to eight hours of time to study everyday. you aren't going to become fluent immediately.

The song for Dance of the Red Death is available on my AO3.

There is sexual content in the sixth section. After the sexual content, please play "Cossack Lullaby" by Sumi Jo. There are links for everything, including all of the articles and data on my AO3.

Guys... this is almost it. There is only one more chapter, the epilogue. I hope to get that posted to you within the next few days. Thank you so much for taking this journey with me. This helped me deal with a lot of my anger about my experiences with HIV/AIDS, and has been able to help me heal in ways that are difficult to explain with words. Thank you for taking this journey with me. We aren't quite to the end, but I wanted to thank you for staying with me so far.

* * *

"Viktor! _Vikku_! You need to take a break before you hurt yourself. _Now_."

Viktor wheezed as he turned and stared into the bleachers where Yuri stood; he had his skates still on, but it was clear that he was done with practice for the day. He already had his laptop under his arm, the other waving valiantly in the air. He was smiling wide, though it had been that way for a long time. Everyday seemed so full of smiles, so full of warmth and the chance of new beginnings. Even slightly frustrated, Yuri was still smiling.

 _Now_.

It felt weird to have the word roll in his mouth. The months of helping push Yuri through the Asian Winter Sports Cup (where he won handily with nearly a twenty point lead) and then to the 4 Continents (where JJ managed to snag a gold for Canada while Yuri took silver. Bronze went to Seung-gil Lee, which had surprised many as rumors circulated that the Korean man thought about dropping out) had made it all seem like such a blur of time. It was so difficult to imagine that a year had already passed. And at Worlds...

Yuri hadn't won Worlds—Christophe had snagged his first gold, while Yuri managed bronze. Silver went to Otabek Altin, the dark horse of Kazakstan. Yurio hadn't even placed, though Viktor knew that there was still so much more fight left in him. That loss wouldn't end his plans for the future; no. Yurio would be one of the best skaters history would ever have, Viktor knew as fact. Yurio was a fighter, though thankfully calmed more by the therapist Yakov made him see on the regular. It had already done wonders to help curb the more visceral parts of Yurio. Even then, Viktor had expected Yurio to be furious at his loss.

Yet Yurio hadn't been upset at all, like Viktor imagined he would have been. He actually seemed... well, Viktor saw how Yurio's cheeks went red when Otabek asked if he wanted to grab some coffee after the competition. Helsinki had amazing coffee, the teenager said so nonchalantly that Viktor _almost_ believed that he was only asking as a friend. Seeing his hands shaking ever so slightly, however, gave Viktor other ideas.

And, just as shaken, did Yurio say yes. For coffee. Just coffee.

Viktor remembered Dr. Fujimoto, his comments on the spark of what would later become a fire...

Just coffee. It was a start to what would become the whirlwind of his life, the gentle push forward and into something he never thought he would ever have experienced. After all of the anger and fear and pain...

Viktor found something to live for. And it seemed like Yurio maybe did, too.

Viktor stared at Yuri, the way his mouth up over his teeth, how a little crinkle at the corner of his left eye was beginning to become an indent into his skin, how Yuri seemed to to be so... carefree. So happy. And it was the truth—they were happy. After everything, after all of the emotional ups and down things were coming together. They were together and while the new medication had been brutal in those first few weeks... they had gotten through it.

Viktor didn't deny that the medication change left him ill—laying him up in bed for longer than he wanted. Luckily the cold had stayed just a nasty cold, though the cough lingered far longer than Viktor had wanted. His lungs were spared the brunt of what pneumonia could have caused, but even then he knew not to push too hard. Sometimes he would try to suck in a deep breath before jumping only to land on his ass, too winded for a moment to even think of moving. It hurt his pride more than anything, but it didn't change the facts.

Yuri knew it and Viktor knew it. This was certainly going to be Viktor's last competition, if the IOC let him. His lungs couldn't take much more abuse, and Viktor had accepted it. His swan song, his last time on the ice as a competitor.

The end of his first love.

"Yeah, give me one sec," Viktor replied as he removed the other earbud from his ear, letting the wires tangle in his hand. He shoved them into his pocket and glided over to where Yuri was, though he didn't exit the rink. "Can you play it on the loudspeakers... just once?"

Yuri narrowed his eyes. "Do you want me to call Yakov and tell him you're doing it again?"

Yakov... Yakov certainly took Viktor's health seriously. Since the declaration and Viktor's admittance at the Gala ended up on Youtube, things had been different.

No one had taken credit but Viktor knew exactly who had done it, sending a massive box of chocolate-covered strawberries and several bottles of _Louis Roederer Cristal 2004 Rosé_ to the Swiss skater. From the excited instagram pictures that ended up plastered across all of Christophe's social media for weeks, Viktor knew he had chosen well.

The leak of the video hadn't been a problem at all; his love was there for anyone to see and he was _proud_ of it. His words about his illness were there, too. Watching through it with Yuri had been hard the first day, but it became easier with time. It was like when he had watched his own mask break in the youtube video the year before, and many of his fans felt the same way.

The media hounding them was something that calmed after Viktor began giving some interviews with a few select members of the press. It wasn't too difficult to find those he thought would be the most likely to listen to them, the ones least likely to vilify him or to attack Yuri in the Japanese and Western media, but finding a sympathetic ear in Russia...

He knew that he should have expected it... to have so many people write about him in the Motherland was sometimes more than Viktor wanted. The lies, the accusations, the scorching denouncements by some for his medals to be pulled, to be locked in prison for the rest of his life, to even be executed. None of it came as a surprise, and was the main reason why he hadn't yet returned to Russia.

It wasn't to say all the reporters or people hated him; he was more polarizing a figure than any other he could think of in recent Russian history. Some thought he was a traitor, some thought he was a flawed martyr to a disease. The government had taken to simply not talking about him. But the danger of going back left a heavy weight on his heart. No more training in St. Petersburg, no more Yakov pounding on his door when he refused to get out of bed and to quit moping.

Now, Yuri did that for him— and when he couldn't get Viktor to behave, Yuri would pull out the laptop currently snuggled in his arms and Skype Yakov.

Yakov never had a problem with screaming over the phone or computer to Viktor. Even the distance didn't help Yakov from nagging on him, yet Viktor still appreciated it. He appreciated _all_ of it.

He began sharing the rink with Yuri at Ice Castle Hasetsu, acting as both coach and competition. It wasn't easy, but then nothing had ever been easy for him—for them.

Truth be told, Viktor enjoyed getting the chance to truly compete against Yuri; the man had grown so much over the past year, and Viktor knew that for every jump he could do one day Yuri would do it even better. The feeling sat in his stomach, a comfortable weight that reminded him of what would come in the future.

It was different, but it was hard not to miss what had once been his home. Gone was the beauty of the snow and the bite of the cold or the bridge he crossed every day. Getting to see the other skaters taking Yakov's verbal lashings, watching Yurio continuously improve and grow. The roses he would leave at the foot of his parents' headstones... He did miss it all. What he had with Yuri was irreplaceable, but Viktor knew just a little part of him would always love St. Petersburg, even if it didn't love him back.

Of course, Viktor knew that he would need to go back, to face his home one more time. More importantly, he knew, was to see Natalya. After what happened in the video surfaced, Mikael had been quiet in his annulment proceedings. Natalya, however, had been loud and Viktor followed her path.

Viktor knew it wasn't his right to speak about his relationship to Mikael, that outing the other man had never been his intention, but he couldn't stop the man's other lovers from coming forward. He couldn't lie when someone asked him if he had been in a relationship with the soccer player, instead falling painfully silent. Part of Viktor still wanted to lie, to protect Mikael, yet the other part of him knew there were mistakes on his part and on Mikael's part. Their mistakes had caused damage in ways that could not be counted in money. Yet, his silence was enough for Natalya to get what she wanted in the end.

Viktor didn't think it was enough.

"Are you even listening?"

Viktor shook his head and looked back to Yuri, who was beginning to frown. Viktor didn't want to see Yuri looking like that.

"Sorry," Viktor said, "I kinda..."

Yuri rolled his eyes and hoisted up the computer. "Yeah, _Vikku_. I know."

Viktor took in another deep breath, feeling the stretch of his stomach and chest. "Just... one time? Please?"

Yuri nodded and made some gesture toward the other side of the rink. "Lutz!"

The little girl popped her head over the edge. " _Hai_!"

There was some commotion and then finally another yell—Loop, Viktor thought. " _Hai! Waiiiiiit!_ "

Yuri gestured to the ice. "One more, okay? Then we go home."

Viktor prepared himself as the music began— the lovely beauty and terror as the heavy drums banged. It was like the pounding of war, the flute coming in with its haunting melody.

And just like Yuri washed away his anger, this song brought it all back.

Every moment, every whisper, every note. It built into a crescendo and pulled away, a constant ache in Viktor's body as he allowed himself to remember. The memories he did not allow out, the ones that plagued his nightmares where it was difficult for him to touch Yuri after waking, soaked in his own sweat.

This song was his _pain_. This song was his _fear_. This song was his _anger_.

And he threw himself into his routine, feeling the sounds rip at him and claw their way out, onto the ice. It was his black blood and green cum— the poison that was still inside him, the poison he wanted to bleed out. It was everything he loathed, everything he despised within himself. It was the blood droplets on his floor, on the rink in New York, on the ground in the Fukuoka Airport. It was his cum on Yuri's fingers.

 _Each man creates his own god for himself. His own heaven, his own hell._

It was the truth— Viktor knew it well. He kept that part of him hidden for a reason; it was the grief he knew he had tucked inside his heart, the anger he refused to allow lash out towards those he wished it toward: Mikael, Doctor Kamkin, Grigory Kashin, Stenin, the people who refused to touch him, the looks, the stares, the wooden chopsticks, the bodies pressed against him and inside him, and...

In the middle he could see himself, standing in his own red cloak as the rink and music moved around him.

The music built and built and Viktor jumped and spun until his body nearly folded under him. He pushed harder and harder, until the banging of the drums and the trumpets and the screaming of the flutes and clarinets bounced through the rink and Viktor fell to his knees.

The music cut off and Viktor sobbed into the ice, pressing his cheek against the broken and cut surface, hearing his tears splash against the surface.

 _Drip. Drip. Drip._

" _Vikku_." He felt Yuri's warm breath against his cheek. "This..."

Viktor knew what Yuri wanted to say.

This was too much, this was unhealthy, this was not dealing with his issues but instead screaming and thrashing and throwing a fit. Viktor took it out on the only thing he knew would never fight back... The ice, his serene and placating lover...

"Viktor, please. Let's go home."

Viktor lifted his face and allowed Yuri to pull him in for a hug. He rested his head against Yuri's cheek, thankful for the warmth. Yuri always gave him more than Viktor could give; it was something he knew he would need to work on. He knew he needed to do better.

He needed to **be** better.

* * *

Viktor stared at the washing machine, watching Yuri's clothing go round and round in circles. He had taken to some of the the more common household duties as a way of helping the Katsuki family; Yuri's parents never said anything against him staying with Yuri, never asked for money, but Viktor knew that he needed to pull his weight around the sleepy _onsen_ inn.

It was still better for Viktor to not spend too much time around the customers, though it seemed with time and gently prodding new articles in the local papers things were becoming much more lively. The fear was still there; Viktor could see it in some of the locals' eyes when they locked for a brief moment when he went running in the morning with Makkachin, or when he went out with Yuri to their favorite _yakiniku_ restaurant. He had gotten better with his Japanese, now able to string along more than just a few broken words. He even managed, occasionally, to pull off short conversations with Yuri's parents.

Still, Viktor wasn't quite sure how Hiroko felt about him. The woman was unfailingly polite, but it didn't assuage his worries. He knew that the incident with the chopsticks never happened again, but he also knew that Hiroko had sometimes avoided his presence after the fight with Yuri.

Viktor couldn't help but feel guilt in his stomach like an angry viper. He was the cause of the discontent in their family and there was little he could do other than to gently try to coax Yuri toward his mother.

He never got to really know his own mother, and Viktor sometimes envied his boyfriend. Viktor would have given anything to get to hold his mother in his arms, to hear her whisper against his hair, to wipe away his fears. It was a mother's magic, one that he had dreamed of for years. And to see that Yuri was not quite as close to Hiroko as he had been when Viktor first arrived, well... it broke a little piece inside of him.

The machine beeped and Viktor stood from the small stool next to the machine, the vertebrae snapping into place and filling the room with cracking. He lifted his arms up and turned his neck, enjoying the sensation.

" _Ah_!"

Viktor dropped his arms and turned to see Hiroko, a mesh basket of towels in her hands.

Viktor apologized quickly in Japanese, then frowned, looking at his feet, at the bones and the bruises. He could feel her eyes on him, and he could only mumble another apology before turning back to the washing machine, quickly flipping up the lid and removing Yuri's clothing, throwing it into the bag next to the machine.

" _Vii-chan_."

Viktor swallowed and turned to Hiroko. The older woman tentatively placed the basket down next to one of the stools and sat down, patting the other stool with her hand.

Viktor swallowed the lump in his throat as he looked down at her hand motioning for him to come closer, and he allowed himself to bend down and onto the stool.

" _Vii-chan, I'm sorry._ "

Viktor didn't want her to be apologizing; she only wanted to care for her son. Viktor did, too.

" _No, I'm sorry. I... I love Yuri._ " He knew that the word he used in Japanese for love didn't convey the same feeling he wanted, but he hoped it would be enough. He hoped that his emotion could carry through his voice, through his actions.

" _I know you do._ " Hiroko pushed up her glasses, the same way Yuri did when he was nervous, and then gently rested her hand on Viktor's leg. " _Vii-chan, you are Yuri's important person. You're his **katsukoi**._ " She said a word that Viktor didn't quite understand, but the way she said it with such conviction Victor could only believe her.

 _Katsukoi_? What was that?

Viktor stared down at his knees, at her gentle hand. It was aged by time and a life of hard work and delicious _katsudon_ and still Viktor could imagine those hands raised above her head as she turned into an _Arabesque_. She must have been a beautiful ballerina—a little shorter than most, but not doubt still a sight to behold.

" _Did Toshiyo meet you when you were a ballerina?_ " Viktor was pretty sure he messed up something in his sentence, but Hiroko didn't comment. Instead her hand tightened for a moment and Viktor could see from the corner of his eye that she nodded.

" _I knew him when I was a child. He didn't like ballet, but he liked me. He liked me dancing._ "

Viktor wondered what it would have been like had Yuri decided to stay with dancing, instead of loving the ice. Would Viktor have met him? Would Viktor have fallen in love with him?

A part deep inside Viktor knew that what he had with Yuri was special, that the ice was not their only connection. What they had would transcend the ice, would transcend everything around him. He had to believe in that, he had to believe in fate…. Because without it, it made the world seem so much colder.

" _I will be careful._ "

Viktor knew it wasn't something he could promise, but he did it anyway. He wanted her to understand that he wasn't trying to placate her or lie to her—if it meant that the relationship between him and Yuri never crossed that border of sex, then so be it. While Viktor didn't want to spend the rest of his life in celibacy, it seemed Viktor was more scared of infecting Yuri than Yuri was scared he could end up infected. It was almost surreal to Viktor. How could it be that Yuri trusted him, gave him that much power?

Viktor wasn't sure that if Yuri had been infected he would have not had any hesitations… but he hoped that he would have. Love was able to transcend bounds, wasn't it? It was what Yuri told him, whispered against his back as he wrapped his arms around Viktor's torso.

More than sex, more than passion, that quiet comfort was what was most important to Viktor.

" _I know, Vii-chan._ "

The room remained in silence as Hiroko reached up and tentatively brushed a few stray hairs out of Viktor's eyes, a soft humming filling the air with a sweet melody Viktor knew well.

" _That song... what is the name?_ "

Hiroko stopped for a moment, letting her hand gently rest against Viktor's cheek. She was warm; no doubt it was where Yuri had gotten his own warmth... no doubt it was where Yuri had gotten so much of himself.

"T _akeda No Komoriuta_."

Viktor repeated the words.

" _Takeda No Komoriuta._ "

 _Takeda No Komoriuta._

 _Takeda No Komoriuta..._

* * *

The preparations for what could be but never quite for sure ended with a start the next Tuesday afternoon, when the post office dropped the letter off right at the inn's door. The white and silver embossed envelope sat waiting, patiently so, when Viktor arrived back home after a rough day of practice with Yuri.

"You... you have to open it," Yuri said as he stared at the envelope, though he did not reach forward to grab it. After removing their jackets and shoes, the two had carefully carried the envelope into the living area of the inn, thankful that the patrons all seemed to be happily hidden away in the _onsen_. They didn't need for there to be an audience for this. If the news was bad then Viktor would be able to mourn in peace.

Viktor crossed his legs underneath him, resting his elbows against the table. He could almost see his reflection in the metallic sheen, and he wondered how long it would take before Yuri grew tired of Viktor's unending staring contest with the paper and just opened it himself.

Of course, Yuri wouldn't do that, not without knowing that Viktor wanted him to...

"Yuri, I..." Viktor leaned further forward, seeing a wisp of his hair brush against the wood. "I can't..."

It was difficult to admit that the letter before them, the little white envelope with silver lettering, would be so important.

"Viktor, do you want me to do it?"

Viktor looked up to Yuri and nodded, pressing his thumbs against his eyelids for a moment before watching with single-minded determination as Yuri plucked up the envelope and held it up to the light.

"Can you see anything?"

Yuri shook his head and rested the tip of the envelope against the table, tapping it on the table. The rainbow rings glinted in the light. Makkachin who was nearby barked in delight at the color and tried to catch the reflection on the wall.

"Just... just do it."

"Like ripping off a bandaid, right?"

Viktor smiled to the man next to him. "Yeah."

They hadn't talked about what they would do depending on if the message was a no, but Viktor imagined that it wouldn't be too different than what they were already doing. The new figure skating year for the Grand Prix was already starting and Viktor would continue on with Yuri. He would put away his gold-trimmed skates. He would turn off the music in his head for his own potential choreography, and he would happily give it all to Yuri...

Except Dance of the Red Death.

That, **that** piece Viktor would throw away, burn and hide the ashes. Imani's adaption was beautiful and haunting and absolutely, unequivocally monstrous.

Yuri did not need to ever skate to Viktor's own nightmare.

No; instead Viktor would give him the beautiful lullaby that Yuri whispered into his ear all those night ago. Those nights where the sweat rolled down his back, where the pain curled in his belly... It was the night he listened to Yuri sob and understood so poignantly that he was no longer pushing forward just for himself, but pushing forward and fighting back for Yuri, too. After Hiroko told him the name, he had already begun choreographing. It would be a perfect short program.

And Viktor would give him _Takeda No Komoriuta_ , if he wanted it. It was a symbol between them, just as Yuri on Ice had been.

But not Dance of the Red Death.

"A bandaid," Yuri said one more time, voice wistful. Viktor watched his finger slide against the creamy white lip of the envelope, tearing against the paper. Viktor shut his eyes as he listened to Yuri unfold the paper, keeping his attention turned to Yuri's heart and his breaths.

 _Thump. Thump. Thump._

Hands wrapped around him and pulled him close and Viktor didn't know what that meant, but he accepted that warmth and closeness despite himself, despite every part of him fighting to stay protected within his own walls.

He was happy with Yuri; the Olympic dream of PyeongChang, if the IOC denied his request to participate independently and under the Rings instead of the Russian flag, would be over. He would be okay. He could survive it, he _knew_ he could. It was already asking for so much, especially considering the precarious situation left after the video. Most of the public itself had little opinion on him—many had already known he was bisexual, even without mentioning it. Considering the rules in regards to the Russian Olympic Federation still being independent from the FFKKR... there was a chance that someone would be willing to speak up for him on the committee.

He had tried so hard, spent so much of his time over the last year and a half fighting, that he wanted this to just happen without the fanfare and the spark. Just one little gift from the IOC, a farewell. If it didn't happen, Viktor would survive.

But Viktor wanted, more than anything, to _**live**_.

He had already started giving his own samples for anti-doping the same way Yuri had done since July, but it was under the assumption that they would give him the waiver... There was a chance they would let him perform... It was such a low chance, added in with his own issue with his future visa in Japan. As long as Yuri needed a coach, he would be there. But Japan did not just give away free visas and one day…. One day there was a chance he would need to return back to Russia.

Yet at that moment Viktor couldn't think about the distant future; there was reality now and Viktor wanted to understand, wanted to know the truth. Their answer was there in Yuri's hand and Yuri had his hands wrapped around Viktor's shoulders... and for a moment Viktor was terrified to didn't want to hear anything. In that moment he had Yuri with him and he could focus on that...

"They said yes."

Viktor didn't cry. Instead he leaned closer to Yuri and rested his nose against the junction of the Japanese man's throat, breathing in his scent, trying to pull those words from his mouth again.

"One more time," Viktor whispered before opening his eyes.

Yuri's brown eyes were blown wide and Viktor could count each of his lashes. "As long as you pass the physical, then you can ska— _umph_."

Viktor grabbed Yuri by the shirt and pulled him up for a kiss. He allowed his body to fall forward and push Yuri down into the tatami mats, careful to make sure his hands cradled Yuri's head as they fell backward.

When they broke from their kiss, Viktor rested their foreheads together and asked, "Yuri… what's a _katsukoi_?"

Yuri blinked. "Huh?"

" _Katsukoi_. Your mom said it to me last week. I looked it up, but I didn't find it." It was embarrassing to admit, but google wasn't able to give him the answer.

Yuri laughed, his breath hitting Viktor's face. It was beautiful the way his eyes brightened, how his smile took up his entire face.

" _Hatsukoi_. It's a first love." The red on Yuri's face brightened as he leaned up, kissing Viktor on the mouth.

"I think I like _katsukoi_ more," Viktor laughed into Yuuri's mouth. The paper from the IOC lay next to his head as he rolled off Yuri, resting his face against the cool tatami mats. Makkachin had gotten the envelope and was busying himself with tearing it into little pieces, but it didn't matter. It felt right. It felt okay.

That was the point of living, wasn't it?

Viktor leaned over and rested his mouth against Yuri's.

"I love you, Yuri."

"I love you, too."

* * *

"Natalya."

She was different from the wedding pictures Viktor remembered trying to scrub from his memory so long ago.

She was young, just a little younger than he was, and with the small child in her arms she looked even younger. She stared up at him with her big blue eyes that had haunted Viktor over the course of his time with Mikael; her wedding dress, the matching rings on their fingers in the photos that Viktor knew Mikael would slip off and into his wallet whenever they spent the night together.

Yet she didn't have that wide-eyed look of a bride on her wedding day. Not anymore.

Viktor wondered, perhaps for the first time, how little he really knew about the woman sitting outside the small cafe in Moscow, nursing a coffee as her little Ekaterina lay against her chest. Viktor noticed, though he shouldn't have been looking, that she did not allow the little girl to nurse, instead fed from a bottle in a small bag near her feet. She looked like a woman with a lot ahead of her, the soft lines already wearing away at the planes of her cheekbones and the corners of her eyes.

They were both too young for this, for all of it.

"I..." He always imagined that her voice would be softer, like it always seemed on the telephone whenever she would pick up Mikael's phone and he would end the call without saying anything. It was surprising that it was much deeper, less like knife against his throat and more like something she had long forgotten to use. "Thank you for coming."

Viktor looked at the chair across from her and he slowly eased himself in, checking twice to make sure that there were no reporters nearby.

"We're not likely to have any problems... this is my uncle's shop. They know not to come here."

Viktor wanted to smile, but he knew that doing so would not be right... this was their first meeting, their somber moment of reality that Viktor had avoided for over three years.

Yet he did not falter as he looked into the woman's eyes. He laid his hands up on the table, palms up. he didn't know particularly why he felt the compulsion to do so, but he knew it was the one thing he had wanted to do since he met Mikael, had learned about his young wife.

He showed himself to her, and she only glanced them over.

Though they had shared emails over the last year, it was quite a big difference between writing with the woman whose husband he slept with and looking her in the eye.

Viktor didn't interrupt her.

"I didn't think it would be like this," she said, a little laugh of exhaustion bubbling up as she raised one of her hands to her face, letting it rest against her forehead. The baby on her lap squirmed and Viktor looked away after a moment, not wanting to stare or to make Natalya more uncomfortable. "I _thought_ it would be easier."

Viktor could imagine her rage, the red fire of anger inside of her, and he knew that he did deserve that. Anything she gave him, he had long ago earned as punishment for what he had done.

"I know," Viktor said, though he was not sure if he did know, and Natalya responded with a snort.

"You..." Natalya pushed her finger up against the dimple of her forehead and then slowly lowered her hand to rest against her daughter's skin. Viktor looked up into her face, seeing how blue her eyes really were. The photos did no justice.

She took in a deep breath from her nose, letting it go between her teeth. "Thank you for sending me that first email... I know you weren't required to."

It felt wrong having the woman thanking him; this wasn't supposed to be how it went.

"I thought you had the right to know."

The woman looked down at the little girl on her chest, her blonde hair peeking out from under the little pink cap pulled over her ears. "I did," she said simply, and then looked at Viktor again, "but a lot of things happened that I should have known about. I'm sorry it took so long for me to respond. I didn't believe you until I got pregnant and I started to get sick. "

"I tried to tell Mikael. He ignored me, but you still needed to know."

Natalya flinched at the mention of her ex-husband's name. Viktor watched her raise her cup to her lips, taking a short sip. "We never really talked about him."

She was right; in their very brief conversations through emails over the past several months, Viktor had never once brought up Mikael. It was better to not think of the other man, to whatever he was busy doing. And with the information Viktor had shared with the media about the nature of the relationship (or rather the volume his silence spoke) he had with the Soccer champion... it was no surprise when Natalya won her request for annulment. A man having an affair with another man was a sin itself, but a man who gave his wife HIV— to the court it must have been an easy decision.

"No, we haven't."

It was for the best, but Viktor could see it in the way she broached the topic that she had more to say.

"You can ask whatever you want, I won't lie." It was the least that he could have done.

The woman put her cup down on the small blue saucer in from of her, running her finger over the coffee cup. She allowed her finger to go around in circles for a moment before stopping.

"I spoke with the doctor. He said there's no way we can really know for certain. I wasn't tested before getting married. I never thought I needed to." Viktor wasn't surprised; after his own experience, he knew now why no one wanted to know. The thought of getting HIV had never crossed his mind until it was too late. For a young woman in Russia? It must have been unthinkable. Unimaginable.

Russia pretended that the issue was only for the drug addicts, the homosexuals, the deviants that deserved death.

Viktor swallowed the lump in his throat. "We'll never know."

"Did anyone call you?"

Viktor shook his head. "I contacted as many as I could. No one so far."

"Anyone after Mikael?"

Viktor shook his head.

Natalya nodded her head, turning her face to the side to look down at her baby. "Then maybe it was me."

"Natalya, no."

She pulled her lip between her teeth. "Maybe it was Mikael. Maybe it was you. You had a lot of lovers before him, and he had many lovers before me… or you." She shook her head, as though trying to remove the thought from her mind. "Does it matter? I wanted to be angry. I wanted to hate you for giving me this, but I can't. You told me to go get tested, and the medicine was able to stop my baby from getting sick. So, thank you for that."

Viktor reached out to touch her hand, yet she recoiled from his touch.

" _Don't touch me._ "

Viktor pulled his hand away, knowing that he shouldn't be stung by her words; she was allowed to feel however she did about this. She was allowed to grieve in whatever way she deemed right.

"That doesn't change the fact that you slept with my husband, Viktor." Her voice shook and Viktor leaned away from the table, pulling his hands down to play with the hem of his jacket.

Natalya wrapped both hands around her coffee cup, holding the dainty blue porcelain like a shield. "I… I can't blame you for giving me HIV. Trust me, I wanted to. I tried to. Sometimes I still want to. But I can't because _I don't know_. But I do know you slept with my husband. You did _that_ knowingly."

Viktor had known he was married. He knew Mikael was married from the first time he laid eyes on the man at a friend's party. He had known the first time they texted, the first time they flirted, the first time they kissed. Viktor had known and he had been selfish. He hadn't cared.

"I kept thinking about you. What made you do it? What did you think was going to happen?"

"He said he was going to leave you." He knew the words would sting and sting they did, more than a hand to her cheek. Yet she still turned the other cheek.

"And you believed him." She lifted the cup to her lips; Viktor could see how her hands shook and the liquid threatened to spill over. She didn't even pretend to drink.

"I…"

 _I don't know._

"I wanted to believe him."

"Well, so did I."

They sat in the Moscow midday cold, and Viktor remembered a time before when he had freely wandered the streets with Mikael, drunk on wine and freedom. It was different now. Everything was different now.

The wind whispered against Viktor's cheeks and he closed his eyes briefly, leaning into it. "I wish I could turn back time," he admitted, voice coming out more as a croak than what he hoped for. "I wish that I had done something different. I should have thrown his number out after we met. I just thought…"

"You were selfish."

"Yes."

"And I knew he was miserable with me."

Viktor looked up at Natalya and her blue china shield. "I was his _wife_. I knew he didn't love me, but I wanted him to… so much that I pretended I didn't see the bruises on his neck or the scratches on his back. I was so desperate for his affection that I ignored the press and the pictures. I wanted to be _**happy**_." She said the last comment with such conviction that the baby in her lap began to softly cry. Natalya put her cup down and wrapped her arms around the little girl. "Shhhhh, shhhh."

She looked up. "I know now… he didn't love me. I don't think he's ever loved anything."

It was a bitter pill to swallow.

"No one will ever love me now."

Viktor looked up to the woman. "That's not true. There's always hope. Yuri taught me that."

Natalya busied herself with rocking the baby, but she could not be quelled. The woman looked down to the bag at her feet and tried to reach down, only for the little girl to begin screaming in earnest.

"Here, let me?"

Natalya looked at him, really looked at him, and it felt like he was being dissected under a microscope. Without more than another moment passing, Natalya leaned over and pulled the little girl from the carrier at her chest and pressed her squawking and squirming body into Viktor's hands.

And Viktor had no idea what to do.

"Just… rock her," Natalya said over her child's screams.

Viktor did his best, trying to lightly bounce the little girl on his knee, her pinched cheeks reddening with every bounce.

"Never held a baby, have you?"

"No... not really."

While Natalya searched in her bag for whatever she was looking for, Viktor held onto the small child; the curve of her nose, her blue eyes, blonde hair. If she hadn't been screaming, Viktor was sure she would have been the cutest child he had ever seen, though it wasn't saying much considering the number of children he had met in his lifetime.

And then it… stopped. The girl must have seen something, maybe even noticed Viktor's panic, and just began to stare. Then… she _giggled_.

Viktor looked up to Natalya, who had finally managed to withdraw a bottle of formula. She stared at the two, her mouth a straight line. Viktor couldn't imagine it was happiness, but she didn't look entirely angry, either.

"Here. I'll take her back." Natalya put the bottle on the table and reached over, plucking the now silent child from Viktor's hands. She quickly soothed the little girl, putting the bottle into her mouth.

It took a moment for Viktor to remember to breathe. He always imagined having two children, but things… things had changed. He was with Yuri, now. He was happy. There was no room for children, and that was okay.

"Your… lover. Is he positive too?"

Viktor looked away from the little girl sucking hungrily at her bottle. "No. He's not."

"I read that he knew you had HIV…"

Viktor nodded. "I told him from the beginning. Things are different in Japan."

Natalya hummed. "I've been thinking about going somewhere. Maybe Sweden. They seem nice there. They say during the winter you can see the northern lights. I used to go to _Lake Lovozero_ when I was little. I want Ekaterina to still see them. Making wishes on the light."

"I think Sweden sounds really nice."

"The winters here in Russia… they're cold. They seep into your bones, they make you shiver. I don't want that anymore."

Viktor looked into the woman's eyes. He knew they weren't talking of the cold. "Hasetsu reminds me of St. Petersburg The wind… the sea. It's home. It doesn't snow often, but I think it's beautiful still. You and Ekatarina are welcome if you ever want to come."

Natalya bounced the little girl on her lap, the child too engrossed in her bottle to care for what the adults were saying.

"Maybe one day. Not now… but maybe."

It was more than he deserved.

"You'd like Yuri. And I know there are other people out there, people who will care for you."

Natalya looked like she wanted to believe him.

"I think for now all I want is to be safe and happy."

They sat in the chill, watching as the sun moved across the sky. They spoke of Mikael, of their disease, about the little girl in Natalya's arms. It was a talk that made his insides ache, one that he had known would hurt from the beginning but he knew he needed to do. He wanted to be forgiven, he knew he had wronged her, and yet he knew that she wouldn't forgive him. Not today, not tomorrow, maybe not even ten years from now—and knowing that fact hurt, but it also allowed him the chance to _understand_.

Their lives were different now. Viktor would never forget that.

"I… I need to go now, Natalya. I promised Yuri I would meet him before his skate tonight."

"The Rostelecom cup, right?" Natalya responded to his shocked expression. "Mikael brought me to see you perform in 2014. I… probably should have known then."

Viktor tried to think back to that day, but in the roaring crowds he hadn't seen either of their faces.

"Maybe... just maybe, he loved us... if just for a moment. I remember he was really happy to see you skate. But… we'll never really know."

"We won't. And I think it's better that way."

* * *

After the Rostelecom cup where Yuri narrowly edged out Yurio for gold, they headed to the NHK Cup in Osaka. It was more difficult of a fight, but Yuri still managed to make it to the podium behind Leo de la Iglesia and Otabek Altin. Yet Viktor believed in Yuri, believed in his power, and so he knew that Yuri would be victorious in Nagoya for the Grand Prix. He believed in Yuri, and Yuri seemed to believe in himself.

It was only a week before heading to Nagoya that Viktor got the call from Doctor Fujimoto. While he still visited the doctor every month, thus far it seemed like the medication had been working.

It had taken longer than Viktor or Doctor Fujimoto wanted to get him back on medication. He needed to get the Phenotypic testing done after his first blood test came back resistant to the more commonly available drug in Japan. It was only a wrinkle in the plan, Doctor Fujimoto had been adamant. Like Cinderella, he just needed to find the perfect glass slipper the doctor would joke and Viktor would let the man draw out more blood.

The new drugs weren't so bad. The side effects were uncommon but still occasionally left Viktor up at all hours of the night unable to sleep or with stomach pains that made him woozy to even think about. It was considerably less often than his previous medication though, and Viktor knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth.

And, of course…. his viral load was low. It had come close to approaching undetectable, but after a brief cold that knocked his immune system down right around Japanese Nationals, it had bounced. Just a little blip.

Nothing to be nervous about.

Yet Viktor knew that things had been going too well; he had been _happy_. Of course there would be a stipulation. Of course it would come a week before Yuri's Grand Prix. Of course it would come right before the Olympics.

" _Vikku_ , don't be so nervous. You've been feeling fine." Yuri raised Viktor's hand to his lips and ran them across Viktor's knuckles. "He didn't sound worried."

Believing in Yuri, believing in Yuri's unfailing positivity in the face of what left Viktor paralyzed with fear— that was what the other man was to him. Even when he knew Yuri was pushing his positivity forward, giving all he could. If he could have been himself, had he not needed to worry about Viktor, Yuri would have been just as bad off as Viktor felt.

"Yuri," Viktor said as he raised his hand to tuck a strand of midnight black hair behind his lover's ear. "It's okay to be scared, remember?"

Viktor waited to see the mask crack, for Yuri to admit how terrified he was, but he hadn't been expecting the resolve.

"It's okay to be scared." Yuri rested his cheek against Viktor's open palm, letting his finger rest against the starburst of a scar in the center of his hand. "But I've got no reason to be scared. I've got you. You've got me. We can face anything together. You showed me that, didn't you?"

Yet in the back was the pounding of the drums, the beating of his own heart. He could hear the blood rushing through his head and he wanted to lay down and wrap his arms around Yuri.

"No hiding." Viktor let his hand trail down from Yuri's hair to his lips. He ran the pad against them, seeing Yuri's tongue peek out at the corner.

"We can go before practice. You're not going to think about anything else until you see him. We can pull a late night... I want to try my flip a little more."

The two were quick with alerting Mari where they were going and that they would be taking the car before heading out, the ruffle of the wind biting at their cheeks.

The Katsuki's car was relatively new; a blue delivery truck with the name of the inn on the side, a little chibi picture of Yuri and his skates next to it. Viktor had them commissioned by a local artist who had taken to drawing their likeness across the internet. It was nice to get to see how adorable she made the portraits of Yuri, Makkachin, and even himself. He especially liked his heart-shaped mouth.

They drove through the countryside, Yuri resting his hand gently on top of the gear shift while Viktor rested his own hand on top of his. Just the slight brush of skin brought immeasurable warmth and comfort to Viktor's frazzled nerves. It felt almost silly, except that Viktor had learned through experience after experience that whenever a doctor called it led to some kind of of negative outcome.

Doctors requesting him to come out days before they were supposed to leave… It felt like a year had come and gone and yet nothing had changed.

"Yuri, can we put on some music?"

Viktor didn't want to listen to the blood rushing through his head. It was hard enough to not panic, to keep himself grounded and remember that what will be will be; that what would happen in Doctor Fujimoto's office was life and it was his life, now. It was _their_ life.

But not even the beauty of the falling autumn leaves across the expanse of road between the mountains of Saga made him feel better. Only Yuri's soft hand.

"Sure, you can use my iPhone." Yuri made a small gesture to the phone nestled against the car's cup holder.

Viktor took quick control over the music, letting the music for Yuri's newest pieces fill the car as the reds and oranges flew by outside of his window.

"I really do like this music," Viktor murmured as they listened through the two tracks. He was a little more partial to the free skate Yuri had chosen, as it was the one he and Yuri had chosen together, he certainly knew that there was nothing to scoff at with the short program. Yuri had decided to choreograph that one entirely on his own, and Viktor was happy to see that beauty and mesmerizing talent as Yuri tapped along to the beat of the song.

Yuri had so much talent; he was the luckiest coach in the world. He was given an extraordinary man to make even more perfect.

The short program actually was a song that Hiroko had given Yuri— the music to her last ballet performance, _The Swan Lake._ She was cast in the position of Odette and Odile, and Yuri had chosen Odile for his own piece. The coda was beautiful, deep with treachery and pain, but Yuri only rolled his eyes when Viktor asked its significance. "I picked it because Odile is the villain, and we always need a villain to fight down in the end."

Wasn't that the truth— always another monster to fight, something to go against.

The drive was long but they managed to play through Yuri's program as well as Viktor's, though halfway through Dance of the Red Death he turned it off, instead choosing to play some of the assorted pop music Yuri had hidden on his phone.

"ABBA? Really?"

"You don't get to judge me, Viktor—I saw that Kis-My-Ft2 single on your computer."

"But at least it's the right century—"

"Let's pretend like I didn't also see that Mari is dragging you off to see EXILE again—"

"And _let's_ pretend like _you_ didn't lose your musical taste back before you were born! Michael Jackson, _really_?"

"So says the man who willingly listens to HKT48!"

Viktor barked out a laugh. "They're from Fukuoka! I'm trying to blend in here, Yuri!"

The two bickered the rest of the way to the doctor's office, and it was honestly the most fun he had ever had on a trip there. For a few moments in the car, listening to Yuri shout the reasons why old American pop was better than new Japanese pop, Viktor felt almost…

Almost okay.

The way into the office was the same as always, with Viktor and Yuri shoving themselves into the too small elevator, Viktor pressing their palms together. It was hard to hide the slick sweat from his palms, though Yuri took his hand anyway. The warm, soft hands brought comfort to his cold and clammy ones.

"We're going to be fine," Yuri repeated as the doors opened into the office, a young couple and their baby the only others in the small waiting room.

Mariko was able to quickly situate them after the small family and so Viktor and Yuri sat down on the brown blocks outside, watching how the little boy climbed around on the rainbow-patterned foam sheets, the toys spread around him like a barricade. Viktor felt strange looking at the little boy bubbling and chewing on his toys, instead switching his attention to Yuri.

They laced their fingers together and waited until the family headed into Doctor Fujimoto's office, the silence a pleasant comfort. Staring at the rainbow mats, not focusing on anything but the puzzle pieces locking into place made blocking out anything, made Viktor remember the calm. Whatever it was they would make it through it together.

Viktor wasn't sure how long they sat there, but it couldn't have been too long before the family left and Doctor Fujimoto appeared near them, his white coat almost glowing.

Viktor wanted to wipe his hands on his pants to dry them, but it would have meant removing his hand from Yuri's.

"Come on back Viktor, Yuri. I'm sure you want to know why I asked you to come in early."

The year wouldn't have been a year with HIV if it didn't include doctors calling for them to come in early. The two followed the doctor back to the familiar area for drawing blood, the nurse off in the back. Viktor wanted to sit down but if he did he wasn't sure if he would be able to stand again.

"Is he okay?" Yuri asked, tightening his hand. It was the only proof that Yuri was as nervous as Viktor felt.

And then Doctor Fujimoto _smiled_ and it was like Atlas picking up the earth from Viktor's chest and shoulders. He felt his legs give out from under him as he went down into the nearby chair, only managing to land because Yuri's arm supporting him the way down.

"Congratulations. Your viral load tests came back undetectable. Your CD4 is at 537." The doctor turned to his desk and picked up a small stack of papers, showing them to Viktor and Yuri. His signature was stark black against the bottom of the page. "I'm signing off with the IOC today. I wanted you to be here before I sent them the email. and the hard copies." Doctor Fujimoto's face couldn't hide his own happiness, and Viktor had to stop himself from hugging the man. He wasn't entirely sure how the doctor would feel about that.

"Now, while this is good news it doesn't mean that you should stop your cocktail therapy. It's working and isn't giving you too many issues, right?"

Viktor shook his head. "Nothing more than last time." He tightened his grip on Yuri's hand. "Are you…"

"I'm sure, Viktor. I'm relieved it happened; seven months on your new therapy should have been enough. But we're there now." He tapped his hand against the papers. "And these are ready to be sent off."

"Do I still need to give blood?"

"We can just do your standard blood tests today, and if you feel more comfortable we can push them back to once every three months after this. You don't need to be here as often, though I am sure Mariko-chan will miss you bringing your poodle with you." The man's face softened. "I never did let her get a dog when she was a little girl."

"Sir," Yuri interrupted and Viktor turned to look at Yuri, whose mouth was set in a firm line, "if he is undetectable… what's the chance of me getting infected?"

Viktor's mouth went dry.

"We've talked about this before, and the answer is still the same. Extremely low," the doctor responded and put the paper on the desk. "Serodiscordant couples who stay on a strict drug regimen have a very low chance of becoming infected, even without condom usage."

Viktor tried to pull his hand away from Yuri's, but Yuri tightened his grip. "And with condoms?"

"I would say statistically negligible. As long as you stay faithful to your pills and stay faithful to one another…. I don't see why your sex lives should be any different than any other couple."

Viktor knew the science, knew that it wasn't just that which had kept him and Yuri from having sex. They had touched, they had always been careful to make sure there were plenty of condoms nearby since the thought of his cum near Yuri still made Viktor nauseous. But now… _Statistically negligible_.

He took in a deep breath and loosened his hand to Yuri's, instead squeezing only ever so gently.

"Yuri?"

Yuri looked down at Viktor, eyes inquisitive. "Yeah, Vikku?"

"After this… we should get coffee."

Yuri blinked at him, but Viktor laced their fingers together.

"That sounds like a good idea, Yuri. I'd take him up on it." Doctor Fujimoto smiled broadly as he pushed up his glasses. "Coffee is an important step."

"So, coffee?"

"It sounds good."

* * *

" _Vikku_ , you said you only wanted to kiss gold," Yuri whispered into his mouth as he pulled his medal from around his neck, the lanyard nearly catching on their chins in his haste. He put his hands out, the gold medal hanging between them. "Is… is this what you wanted?"

They were back in the hotel room in Nagoya after the whirlwind of the 2017-2018 Grand Prix, and Viktor could barely breathe. It had taken all of his self control not to have done anything at the Gala and now that they were back in the comfort of their hotel room… Viktor didn't know what would happen, but he knew that he wanted to kiss Yuri. He wanted to kiss that medal, to soak in Yuri's warmth. Sitting across from Yuri on the bed, Yuri's feet curled under him as he held out the gold medal, it was amazing that he hadn't already reached forward to kiss it.

"I'm so proud of you." Viktor reached up and took hold of Yuri's hand. But, instead of reaching for the medal he pushed their palms together and brought them to his lips, making sure that he kissed both.

The medal was cold but Yuri was warm, so warm.

"C'mere." Viktor tugged Yuri closer and rested his other hand against the small of Yuri's back. He felt Yuri flush against his body and he leaned forward, resting his forehead against Yuri's. He allowed Yuri to move his hand up to Viktor's chest, playing with the buttons on his shirt. One, two, three… lower and lower he thumbed open the buttons and Viktor didn't stop him.

Viktor leaned in and gently nudged Yuri's mouth with his, letting Yuri take the lead. It was still scary, like jumping into the unknown, but Viktor knew he wanted this. He knew that Yuri wanted it. He knew that the fear was something that would fade like a scar. It wouldn't be invisible, maybe it would even stay red and angry for many years to come, but Viktor knew now that it was _healing_. The skin had grown over the wound and though it was tight and still so new he knew it wouldn't break or crack.

"Please, _Vikku_. Just don't push me away. Please," Yuri whispered against his lips. "Please don't."

"I… I'll try."

For a man who had many lovers, touching Yuri was like coming home. It wasn't like it was when he was younger, when he was carefree and idealistic. That Viktor was gone, and in its place was a person Viktor always knew he wanted to become.

Viktor allowed Yuri to set the pace and allowed his body to react to the sensations of Yuri's mouth on his, his roaming hands unbuttoning and pulling at his shirt, then the buckle of his pants, then to the hem of his boxers.

This was not different than the other things Yuri and Viktor had done before, but Viktor had a feeling in his gut, deep down where he knew he had hidden part of himself in that cold doctor's office so long ago, that Yuri's touch was going to become different. The urgency of their mouths, the feeling that was building warm and snug inside of him, the way Yuri traced his fingers across Viktor's hipbones...

"Take off your clothes," Viktor whispered as he pulled away. "I need to go into the bathroom. I'll be right back."

Viktor saw the rush of panic in Yuri's eyes, but Viktor leaned forward, letting their mouths and teeth and tongues clash for a moment before pulling away. "Just give me a minute, okay?"

Viktor pushed his pants from his ankles, kicking them over to the side as he crawled from the bed, Yuri's medal still in his hand. He laid it on the dresser and smiled back to Yuri. "Just a minute."

Viktor went into the bathroom and rested his back against the door and stared at himself in the mirror, the glow of the above light making the sheen on his skin stand out even more stark.

It had been years since he had touched himself really, but Viktor looked away from the mirror and towards the shower, starting up the water. He made sure it wasn't too hot as he eased himself in and cleaned himself. He didn't have gloves, only condoms and lube, and so he was careful in preparing himself.

After a few minutes where he allowed his body to relax and his month to stop panicking, Viktor turned off the water and grabbed a towel, patting off the water. He looked at himself one more time in the mirror and tried to smooth away the fear. He didn't want Yuri to see that.

Viktor opened the door and crept back into the room, breathing in a sigh of relief to see that Yuri had not taken off out of the hotel room either, and was now laying on the bed, the only part of his body under the blankets being his feet.

"Do you want me to turn up the heat?" Viktor asked, but Yuri shook his head. He leaned up to grab Viktor's and and pull him on top of him, letting their bodies touch.

Viktor threaded his fingers through Yuri's hair, feeling the coarseness in his hands and he could feel himself hardening at the touches across his chest and back as Yuri pulled at him, trying to see how much skin their bodies could slide together. When Yuri's hand went lower and finally touched him, Viktor gasped and buried his face into Yuri's neck.

"Condoms," he muttered, though even thinking of words was difficult. He was still able to think, still able to remember protection, but he knew that there was more. It wasn't the terror now, and he allowed himself to roll off Yuri and to the side, glad to see Yuri holding out two condoms and a small bottle of lubricant.

"Which one is gunna… I didn't think this far, to be honest with you," Yuri muttered and Viktor laughed, leaning up to snag the foil packets and small bottle from Yuri.

"This time… I want you to be in me. Okay?"

Yuri took a deep, almost painful sounding breath in from his nose. "Are you… are you sure?"

Viktor popped the cap of the bottle and got onto his knees. "We've got all the time in the world." And for the first time in nearly two years, Viktor _believed_ it.

Yuri had never really touched himself or Viktor in such an intimate way, so Viktor was led to set the pace, to lean forward and allow Yuri to gently glide his fingers inside. He was so delicate in his touch that part of Viktor hungered for more, for Yuri to push his fingers inside of him and fill him, to remind him of this human part of him that he thought had died.

But Viktor didn't rush, letting both of their bodies create the rhythm. When he was sure he couldn't take any more, his mind and his toes curling, fingers grasping helplessly at the sheets, Viktor turned and grabbed the foil packet, tearing it open and rolling the length down Yuri's hard cock. He allowed Yuri to do the same in turn, and then Viktor moved to turn back, but Yuri stopped him.

"Can I look at you?"

Viktor smiled. How else could he respond to such a request? How could he deny Yuri anything? Even if it would be less comfortable for him, Viktor wanted to be able to look into Yuri's face just the same as Yuri wanted to look at him.

It was what selfless lovers did, Viktor realized.

"Okay," Viktor whispered as he leaned back into the sheets, letting his head rest against the pillow. He lifted up his legs, thankful for the flexibility offered by his long hours on the ice, and rested his calves on Yuri's shoulders. "Are you nervous?"

Yuri licked his lips. "Yeah." His glasses had gone askew, almost half hanging off his face.

Viktor reached up and pushed them back into place, tucking a few tufts of black hair behind his ear. "Don't be nervous. Take my hand." It was almost easy for Viktor to forget that this was new territory for them both…

He allowed one hand to join with Yuri's while he gently guided Yuri's cock to his body, gently pressing the head inside. It didn't hurt, but the stretch was something Viktor had forgotten.

"Lube," Viktor grunted, thankful that Yuri was quick to grab for the lube next to them, flicking the cap open and letting a generous amount spill onto him.

"Okay, we're gunna take it slow." Viktor let his thumb and Yuri's free hand slowly press forward, inch by inch, until he was fully inside and Viktor was able to wipe his hand on the bed sheets before running a shaking hand over Yuri's forehead. It was tight and hard, but not unbearably so. "When you're ready…"

Yuri nodded above him and Viktor couldn't help but let his toes curl as Yuri adjusted himself, gently pressing against his prostate. His flagging cock enjoyed the move and seemed to wake to the prodding.

It was slow, almost agonizingly slow, as they got their bearings. Yuri kept their hands entwined as he slowly began to to move, his deep breathing the only thing louder than the sound of their hearts.

Some people enjoyed hard and rough and fast sex; Viktor knew he was a big fan of that feel of bodies colliding in almost a painful symphony with one another. There was something sensual and gorgeous about the sound of skin slapping against skin, of feeling his entire body move with the thrust of his partner, trusting them to know his limits.

What he had with Yuri that first night was the opposite. It was soft and gentle, nothing of the bandaid Viktor had feared and more like sinking himself into water, letting his body acclimate and become malleable in his lover's hands. His _Yuri_ 's hands. It was Yuri's panting breaths and soft moans, Yuri's hands on him, Yuri inside of him.

 _Yuri. Yuri. Yuri._

Viktor knew he couldn't last for as long as he wanted; he barely had to even touch himself to know that orgasm was coming. He tried to not grip Yuri too tightly when he came, though he could feel muscles inside of him pulling and Yuri cried out into his ear. Even as his thrusts became more erratic Yuri was gentle, the most gentle lover Viktor could remember ever having.

It wasn't the most powerful orgasm, the longest or most passionate experience, but it was **Yuri**. It was always **Yuri**. It was his smell, his touch, the taste of his lips. It was the the light in his eyes as he trembled and Viktor could feel his body on top of him, inside him, with him.

And they would have time, an entire lifetime, to learn their bodies. They would have time to come together, to learn each curve and dip, for Viktor to know exactly what made Yuri's body light up when he touched it, what would give him the most happiness. Where once there had been fear, there was now something glimmering at the edges.

Yuri withdrew from him and Viktor leaned down to pull off his own full condom, making sure to tie it and throw it into the nearby trashcan. There were a few wipes on the bedside table and Viktor didn't object when Yuri wiped him clean before curling up next to him, resting their chests together.

"Thank you," Viktor whispered as he watched a trickle of sweat race down Yuri's forehead, into his hair. He leaned forward and kissed the man's sweat-soaked brow, appreciating the way Yuri's arms pulled him closer. All either of them wanted was to be closer to the other, to have that intimacy that had once terrified him.

"Can you sing to me, _Vikku_?" Yuri had already such a long day, and now it was clear that the adrenaline was beginning to wear off.

Viktor pulled Yuri closer and though he knew Yuri's mother's song, instead he chose his own mother's soft lullaby, the one that reminded Viktor of home. It was the words in a language that almost felt like a faraway memory, like a dream that he hadn't seen in so long. He allowed the words to wash over them, trying to picture a life with Yuri where that feeling could exist.

And he could see it, shining like water, like ice.

And Viktor sang to him the lullaby of so many little Russian children, ones whose fathers and mothers would never return. He sang to him in his broken voice of frailty, of love, of hope. He sang of mothers long gone, of their dreams for the future of their little ones cradled against their chests.

And Viktor knew as he whispered his promise into Yuri's hair in the words his mother had once promised to him, that there was a reason Dance of the Red Death had left him drained, had taken his energy and sapped it away. It took and took, never once giving reprieve.

Viktor looked to the nearby window, the cracks of moonlight caressing Yuri's face, and he understood.

He finally understood.

* * *

 **Please review!**


	8. Epilogue

Epilogue

 **December 12th, 2016**

 **Viktor Nikiforov Admits HIV Status and Russian Ban on Skating?!**  
 **By: Anna Popov**

Many of our readers no doubt have already seen the video that was leaked this weekend of Viktor Nikiforov at the annual Grand Prix Gala, which finally had our favorite angel on ice admit about his HIV status and his relationship with Grand Prix Silver Medalist Yuri Katsuki.

Rumors had been circulating in regards to Viktor's sexuality for years, though _7 Days_ only received exclusive material involving the infamous Moscow rendezvous Viktor and former Russian National Soccer player Mikael Loskov in October, 2015. We later reported on Viktor's sudden move to Japan, as well as the budding romance that seemed to flourish on the ice between Viktor and his student.

Things became more challenging after the incident at the China Cup, where Viktor admitted his romantic relationship during a kiss; it was not long after that information was leaked by former journalist Grigory Kashin of _Maxim Magazine_ in an online posting which, to date, has garnered well over 1.9 million views. The backlash and accusations of the name of the leaker were put to bed quickly—we at _7 Days_ tried our best to find out the person involved in the leak, but Kashin has since taken an extended holiday out of the public limelight, leaving readers and reporters alike uncertain of the veracity of the claims about Viktor's HIV status.

Outspoken in her opinions and her status, Natalya Loskov opened up to her HIV infection and her beliefs that she was infected by her husband, but there has been no definite admittance until now. It seems that things are finally coming together to show a worrisome picture of who was, until today, considered a national treasure to Russia.

The recent Youtube video, clocking in at only 3:42, was enough to answer some questions, but leading to more. Viktor claimed in the video that the Russian Figure Skating Federation was attempting to block his chances of competing into the 2018 PyeongChang Olympics.

Say it isn't so!

This reporter did a little digging into some of the more common figure skating contracts sign, and it seems that the morality clause does exist, and coming out as being in a relationship with another man would certainly cause a breach in such a contract!

Many of Viktor's most ardent of supporters have begun flooding Youtube, as well as the FFKKR's email servers and internet forums in attempts to allow Viktor to continue skating. Others believe that Viktor should not be allowed to participate, though it is no doubt that the Russian public is very much split on its opinion.

 _To continue reading about Viktor's shocking announcement, turn to **page 14.**_  
 _Information about Yuri Katsuki and his scandalous relationship with Viktor can be found on **page 22**_ **.**

* * *

 **February 16th, 2018**

 **Viktor Nikiforov Wins Gold at PyeongChang Olympics!**  
 **By: Nina Ignatyeva**

Viktor Nikiforov astounded fans and judges alike on Wednesday at the sunny PyeongChang Olympic skating rink as he won Gold under the Olympic Flag while setting two new world records. His short program, "Takeda no Komoriuta" garnered an astounding 120.69— over two points higher than Yuri Plisetsky's world record win during the 2016 Grand Prix.

The music for his Free Skate, "Cossack Lullaby" was changed in the last three months from its original piece, "Dance of the Red Death." Viktor spoke with reporters about his change in the piece noting that the original song he chose did not properly showcase his growth and the progress he had made since his last official program on the ice. Sources who managed to see Viktor's previously planned piece admitted that it was raw and painful and not what Viktor wanted. After listening to the track, composed by the brilliant Imani Botha, this reporter can say that the dark and looming song would have certainly set many teeth on edge.

His Free Skate score was 222.41, which once against claimed his spot as number one figure skater and world champion, and easily led to winning his last gold medal. His student Yuri Katsuki has promised that he and Viktor will work together into the future to make a program that can beat the unbeatable performance of Viktor Nikiforov's swan song.

That is right! Unfortunately, according to Viktor's announcement after his amazing win, he will no longer continue skating. Instead, he admitted, he intends on staying with Yuri Katsuki in Japan as his coach and lover.

This recent year has been one of the most challenging seasons to report on as both a fan of Viktor Nikiforov and a fan of skating. While I have gotten the opportunity to see many different artists, none have ever had the same emotional impact of seeing Viktor on the ice. The contentious debate over whether or not Viktor should have been allowed to skate, as well as the status of his prior wins due to his HIV scandal and sexual orientation, has weighed on his public persona.

 _Girls Tears_ has always supported Viktor Nikiforov, and we hope that his future will be one that is happy and safe.

Silver medal went to Yuri Katsuki, while bronze went to Otabek Altin. Unfortunately, other than Viktor Nikiforov, all other Russian skaters were unable to perform in this year's Olympics due to the current anti-doping scandal.

Yuri Plisetsky who was in the audience when Viktor won gold, smiled and told reporters that he hoped that one day he would be able to beat Viktor's world record.

"I'm not mad he beat me. He's taught me... Viktor's taught me that I can do anything. That being like him isn't wrong, but that I need to be myself. I look forward to the challenge—I'm going to beat both their asses."

 _For more details on the current FFKKR's position on the ban, please turn to **page 45.**_  
 _For news on Russia's Figure Skating Fairy, Yuri Plisetsky, and his plans for the future, please turn to **page 46**._

* * *

 **April 10th, 2018**

 **Josei Jishin's Exclusive Interview with Japan's very own Silver Olympic Medalist Katsuki Yuri and his coach, Olympic Gold Medalist Viktor Nikiforov**  
 **Opening up on the Ice, Love, and Living with HIV**  
 **By: Miko Furimatsu**

The last two years have been a whirlwind of emotional ups and downs for figure skating fans; from the announcement of Viktor-san's plans on coaching Yuri-kun, to the announcement of Viktor-san's HIV status was leaked to the press after the very public kiss at the 2016 Cup of China.

Now, after the astounding win for both men at the PyeongChang Olympics, _Josei Jishin_ has been granted the unparalleled opportunity to interview Yuri-kun and Viktor-san! We got the chance to sit down and talk about skating, falling in love, living with HIV, and their plans for the future. Yuri-kun, known to be quite camera-shy, has also allowed us the chance to take a step into their daily lives in the sleepy _onsen_ town of Hasetsu!

 _~Interview~_

 **Miko** : Thank you so much for coming and speaking with us! Your fans have been waiting a very long time to get to hear from you two!

 **Viktor** : Thank you so much for inviting us, Miko-chan!

 **Yuri** : And thank you so much for the flowers. They're very beautiful.

 **Miko** : Your fans wanted us to do something to celebrate your dual win!

 **Yuri** : Really, we couldn't have done it without the support of our family, friends, and fans.

 **Miko** : Yes, the last two years has been very difficult for you… After the announcement of your HIV status, Viktor…

 **Viktor** : It was hard, for both of us. _Viktor takes Yuri's hand_ But we got through it together. We became stronger because of it.

 **Yuri** : And thank you for not sending anyone to our house…. (Note: Josei Jishin was one of the only magazines that did not invade Yuri-kun and Viktor-san's privacy during that difficult time.)

 **Miko** : Of course, we are sorry for what happened.

 **Yuri** : It was a difficult time, but we're where we are now because of it. I think we would have preferred coming out about it in our own time, in Viktor's own time, but now… It's something we don't have to worry about anymore.

 **Viktor** : And now we can continue on into the future. Yuri promised me he would become a 5-time World champion, so we have that to look forward to.

 **Miko** : So it's true that you're going to stay on as Yuri-kun's coach?

 **Viktor** : I'll stay as long as he'll have me _laughs_

 **Yuri** : You don't throw out Olympic Gold Champions when they offer to become your coach, do you?

 **Viktor** : Nope. You definitely shouldn't.

 **Miko** : Viktor, do you think that you're going to return one day to Russia?

 **Viktor** : _sighs_ Russia is my country of birth and will always be important to me… but I love Yuri. I want to be with Yuri. And Hasetsu has become a really important place to me, but really? Home is wherever Yuri is.

 **Miko** : Do you think your HIV status is one of the reason why you don't plan on returning to Russia?

 **Viktor** : It's a big reason as to why I am hesitant to go back, yes. People like me… in Russia, people like me aren't **people**. I am an HIV positive bisexual man. It doesn't matter how much I love my country, how much pride I have in its people and its history, when I'm worried about the reactions others have when they meet me. I've been keeping up with the news.

 **Yuri** : I would love to get to see more of Russia. What I got to see was very nice. But… I want Viktor to feel safe.

 **Viktor** : We just want to be happy and to do what we love.

 **Miko** : Do you think that opinions have been changing in Russia?

 **Viktor** : I hope so. A lot of people don't know, but HIV is a big problem in Russia… I didn't even know until I was tested positive.

 **Miko** : About that… Did you ever think it would happen to you?

 **Viktor** : You never think it happens to you until it happens and it's too late. I… I don't like dwelling on that feeling. I want people to be smart, to not do what I did.

 **Miko** : Yuri-kun, do you think that Japanese people know a lot about Viktor-san's disease?

 **Yuri** : Not really. I knew a little because I lived in Detroit for so long, but I never really thought that I would ever meet someone with HIV. I didn't even know that I could be with someone…. to have a relationship with someone who was HIV positive.

 **Miko** : I think a lot of people were very worried when Viktor-san's status came out.

 **Yuri** : People don't know because no one wants to talk about it. It isn't a nice thing…. a lot of people have died.

 **Viktor** : But I am alive. We're alive, and we just want to live our life in peace.

 **Miko** : What are your plans for the future?

 **Yuri** : Well, we're going to keep skating. Viktor is going to be my coach—

 **Viktor** : And Yuri is going to keep growing as a skater. He is so talented, so beautiful on the ice. Don't you agree?

 **Miko** : Definitely! We are all big fans of what Yuri-kun has planned for the future! Any thoughts on what you want to be in ten years, Yuri-kun?

 **Yuri** : We've been thinking a lot about it, but I think after I retire-

 **Viktor** : A long time into the future-

 **Yuri** : Yes, Vikku. _Laughs_ In the future when we retire… maybe we'll coach kids. We both really like children.

 **Miko** : Any wedding bells in the air?

 **Yuri** : _Laughs_ Well…

 **Viktor** : You've turned him into a tomato! Just look at how red he is!

 **Yuri** : Your ears are red too, y'know!

 **Viktor** : It's okay, Yuri! I like the red on you.

 **Miko** : So cuteeeeeee!

 **Viktor** : _Laughs_ Well, we'd like to get married… but right now it isn't a choice for either of us. Japan doesn't allow same sex marriage.

 **Yuri** : There's civil unions in some parts of Japan, but since Viktor is a foreigner… we aren't sure if it would be legal.

 **Miko** : I'm sorry to hear that! We hope that one day you can get married.

 **Yuri** : Me too, Miko-chan.

 **Miko** : And since you both like children…

 **Viktor** : What do you think, Love?

 **Yuri** : We're thinking about it... It would be nice.

 **Viktor** : Like a family...

* * *

 **March 29, 2019**

 **Subject: Re:Re:Re: Moving info**  
 **From: Yuri Plisetsky**  
 **To: Viktor Nikiforov**

Yeah, yeah. Like I told you a million times you can just come whenever you and Yuri want. Otabek and I are going to start using his rink next week. If you guys want to come see us before you start prepping for next season just let me know.

It's nice here, Viktor. I mean, it's weird not having Yakov yelling down and trying to kill me, but I think Yuri had the right idea—he's more than happy to scream at me over Skype. And honestly I feel a lot safer here.

Yeah. No. I don't want to talk about what's going on with Beka. Let me figure it out on my own.

I'm sorry to hear about Makkachin. He was a good dog. I know I liked him more than I liked you. I'm sure little Katsukoi will be okay. It just is going to take some time.

-Yuri

PS: Stop fucking sending us condoms you dirty old man.

* * *

 **April 3rd, 2020**

 _A photo of Ekaterina on Natalya's lap as she holds up a birthday card covered in sparkles with a little girl on a pony. "To a sweet little Ekaterina, on your birthday..." It is signed " **Love Uncle Viktor and Yuri.** "_

 _A pair of ice skates, the white leather shining in the light of the photo, sits on the floor next to her feet. Her smile is blinding, and so is Natalya's._

* * *

 **December 22nd, 2021**

The smell is what woke up Viktor; it was sweet and something warm, like a fleeting memory of butterfly kisses and someone gently rocking him in their arms.

The cold gently nipped at his toes as he pulled off the blankets, and he quickly stuck them back under the covers. The other side of the bed was empty; the warmth of Yuri's body still keeping the sheets a comfortable temperature, and Viktor wondered if he could possibly hide in the comfort of their bed for a little longer. Katsukoi was curled up next to his feet, his dark brown fur contrasting with the white of their blankets.

There were sounds from the other room and Viktor sighed before withdrawing his feet once again.

"C'mon, Katsu."

The dog opened one eye and then rolled right over.

Viktor laughed and leaned over to rest his face against the dog's fur. Katsukoi wasn't Makkachin and he wasn't Vicchan, but sometimes acted more like Yurio than either Yuri or Viktor cared to admit…. Particularly to Yurio. He was pretty sure Otabek would get a kick out of it, though.

"Fine, fine. You can sleep. Don't mind me," Viktor gave the poodle a quick rub behind the ears and stood from the bed, stretching his arms above his head.

After listening to the pop of his back Viktor reached over to the bedside table and opened his Hello Kitty pillbox, popping his medicine into his mouth before taking a drink from the water bottle next to it. He let his fingers run across some of the _purikura_ ; they had already added dozens more, and they were beginning to run out space.

After drinking half of the water he screwed the cap back on and snapped the cover into place, then trekked through their bedroom toward the kitchen.

The house they chose was near Ice Castle Hasetsu; after the prior owners passed on, Viktor and Yuri were quick to snap it up off the market. The Nishigori family did most of the day-to-day running of the place, while Viktor and Yuri would occasionally teach children's skating lessons whenever they had free time—which wasn't as much as they thought, despite Yuri having decided to retire the year before. Now the two ran easily one of the most successful figure skating rinks in the country, if not Asia, having already expanded Ice Castle Hasetsu to house another rink next door, specifically for training. They were already planning to build another in the next two years if things kept up.

After the Olympics, things had changed for them and had changed for Hasetsu. Once a dying _onsen_ town, the renovation of the city had taken Saga by storm. While Moscow and Toronto would always be bigger, Hasetsu's rinks were where champions were made. The triplets had already caused quite a scene; it was widely known that the three would probably be running the female junior figure skating world within the next few years when they were eligible for competitions. Having two Olympians coaching them certainly caught some interested eyes.

After Yakov had decided to retire from figure skating, saying that he wanted to enjoy the rest of his life without dealing with snot-nosed shitheads trying to give him a heart attack, Viktor had happily taken on those who were still in need of a coach. Yakov still made sure to drop by whenever he was in a mood, but from what Viktor could tell the older man was very much enjoying the time he could spend with Lilia. And… well...

Viktor was _good_ at coaching.

The exposure of Hasetsu as the up-and-coming place for ice skating had revitalized the town in ways that had created a bustling and growing city. Not only a tourist trap hidden by the sea, but a place where the future would be made for figure skating.

And things between him and Yuri… they had only gotten stronger.

Viktor padded down the hall toward the kitchen, the smell of something cooking making his stomach rumble and mouth water. He peaked his head into the kitchen to see Yuri at the stove wearing a pair of checkered pajama pants, his gray t-shirt riding up just a bit at his side as he jutted out his hip ever so slightly. Viktor could see the _syrniki_ in the pan, the powdered sugar and jams already on the table for later.

Viktor leaned against the doorway and watched how Yuri hummed to himself, swaying to his own music as he slid the spatula under the _syrniki_ and flipped it over, making the shirt ride up enough for Viktor to see the pale, slightly scarred skin at his lover's stomach.

Yuri would never understand how undone he made Viktor feel, like he were pulling at the threads keeping him together.

"You going to stare at me all day?" Yuri finally muttered as he turned, his bed-head making Viktor smile. How was it that Yuri could become more beautiful every day?

"Thinking about it," Viktor admitted as he pushed off from the doorway and into the kitchen, wrapping his arms around Yuri's waist, letting his hands trail across the flesh he had been staring at just a moment before. How could this man, this perfect man, be his? How had he gotten so lucky to have this kind of blessing? "Why're you making _syrniki_? It's not my birthday yet."

" _Hnnn_ , it's on the table."

Viktor blinked and turned a little toward the table. "What?"

"Go see it for yourself."

Viktor removed his arms from Yuri, who tried to swat him with the spatula when he grabbed his ass, and headed toward the table. There was a thick white envelope on the table, labelled from Immigration, and the breath went out of Viktor.

"Do you think… Is it…"

"You need to open it to see."

Viktor looked back up to Yuri who was busying himself removing the _syrniki_ from the pan and turning the heat off. When he turned toward Viktor, he reached down and took the envelope in his hands.

"Do you think…?"

"We're never going to know if you don't open it."

Viktor swallowed and stared at Yuri for a moment. "If it's a no…"

"Then we have options. But I'm not worried, _Vikku_."

Viktor took in a deep breath and slid his finger under the lip of the envelope, knowing that Yuri could see his hands shaking. He didn't want them to be shaking, but he couldn't help it…

The paper was so crisp, so clear, and the words on it took a minute to register.

"They gave me permanent citizenship." Viktor's throat was dry, parched like the desert.

 _Drip. Drip. Drip._

"You're crying, _Vikku_."

Yuri wrapped his arms around him and Viktor allowed the other man to cling to him just as hard as he clinged to Yuri.

"I'm sorry, it's a lot. I'm so…"

 _I'm so happy._

 _I'm so relieved._

 _I'm so in love with you._

 _I'm okay._

 _This is okay._

"I had a feeling they would say yes. I mean, you're you, _Vikku_. No one can say no to you." Yuri leaned up on his tiptoes and wrapped his arms around Viktor's neck, planing a warm kiss against his lover's mouth.

Viktor didn't allow Yuri to break the kiss and instead let the letter drop from his hands as he wrapped them around Yuri's back, letting his fingers ghost the hem of his shirt before wrapping around Yuri's hips. He edged them toward the counter, knocking over a bowl of _syrniki_ mix when he picked up Yuri to put him on the counter.

All Viktor could think about was Yuri's mouth on him, the way his tongue felt against his, about the fingers twined in his hair and pulling him down.

"God, Yuri," Viktor muttered in a half whine when Yuri pulled away, planting a kiss on Viktor's earlobe.

"Hold on, just— _hn_ , hold on."

Viktor pulled away from Yuri and allowed the man to slip off the counter. He turned and reached for something Viktor hadn't seen, then turned back.

"Yuri…"

" _Shhhhh_."

Yuri took Viktor's right hand and lifted it to his lips, kissing the ring finger before slowly slipping on a gold band.

It was hard to breathe.

They didn't need words, not in that moment. With Yuri's hand against his and the light glinting off the gold on his finger, Viktor couldn't have thought of anything that would have made that moment better.

 _Except…_

"Yuri?"

"Yeah?"

"Let's make a baby."

Viktor leaned up and captured Yuri's mouth in a kiss, letting his hands roam against Yuri's skin, and Viktor couldn't help but slip his right hand under Yuri's shirt, letting his ring press against the warmth of his lover's chest. He could feel the warmth and the beating of his heart against the metal.

"That's not how we can make a baby, _Vikku_ ," Yuri laughed, but acquiesced to Viktor's kissing.

"I know it isn't, but we can still try." Viktor nipped Yuri's neck and lifted him up again, loving the feeling of Yuri's legs wrapped around his waist. "What'dya say? Wanna?"

Yuri laughed again and leaned down, resting their foreheads together.

"Yeah. I do."

* * *

 **October 28th, 2021**

 _A pale blue envelope addressed to Yuri Plisetsky and Otabek Altin in script. The inside invitation is written in dark blue against ivory paper._

 _'Viktor Nikiforov and Yuri Katsuki  
Request the honor of your presence_  
 _As they exchange marriage vows and begin their new life together_  
 _On April 2nd, 2022 at 2 o'clock in the afternoon_  
 _In front of Hasetsu Castle, Saga Prefecture_

 _A reception will be held immediately after  
To share the couple's joy in beginning their new family.'_

* * *

 **June 4th, 2021**

 **Announcement**

Olympic Medalist Figure Skaters Viktor Yuri Katsuki are happy to announce the first Annual Skate-Off for Ending HIV/AIDS.

The competition, slated for September 14th at Ice Castle Hatsetsu, will bring together to biggest number of the World's best skaters as they compete for the prestigious gold!

All proceeds will be used to combat HIV/AIDS and end the stigma across the globe.

* * *

 **February 19th, 2026**

 _Drip. Drip. Drip._

It was snowing that day; Viktor could remember the sound of the flakes splashing against the glass, ever the reminder of the passage of time. He listened to it like one would listen to a metronome. He wanted the sound to sync with his heart or his breaths, but it was difficult to make his heart stop trying to jump into his throat or for his breath to calm.

 _Family._

 _Fidelity._

 _Faith._

It was hard to be back, but he knew it was important.

 _This_ was important.

He was careful to close the car door as he stepped into the snow, feeling it fall against his cheeks. The cold was a comfort to him, and Viktor allowed himself to wrap his arms around his body for warmth. It has been too long since he had come back, too long since he had tried.

He allowed his feet to travel forward, knowing the path so intimately that the time away had not changed the sacred place, the sacred stone.

Viktor allowed his hands to drop to his side and he felt the warmth against his palms; two hands in his, one so comforting and warm that it took away Viktor's fear and the other so small. So, so small. So fragile, like cupping a butterfly in his hands.

"Papa?"

Viktor looked down at the little girl, tightening his hand around hers. "Katya, I want you to meet your grandparents."

The warmth of Yuri's hand in his gave him comfort as he leaned down to the little girl bundled in her winter coat, letting her drop his hand and wrap her tiny arms around his neck. He allowed himself to smell her hair, let his nose rest against the soft downy touch as she kicked out her feet and giggled.

"Daddy! Papa's tickling!"

"Papa, don't tickle Katya too much," Yuri laughed, though he did nothing to stop Viktor as he wiggled his nose against her hair. "We promised we'd bring her to see Yakov after this… I bet _Dedushka_ wants to tickle her too."

She laughed louder, her voice echoing through the cemetery; a light in the darkness, a warmth in the winter's cold.

"He promised to make you some _syrniki_ if you're good. Will you be good for Papa?"

The girl nodded, her curls bobbing against her face. "Promise!"

Viktor turned to Yuri and felt the other man wrap his arms around them, holding them close. Viktor felt the whisper of butterfly kisses against his cheek and knew that the feeling inside of him, that feeling of warmth, could melt the ice.

And for the first time since he was a child held between his mother and father as they danced, Viktor felt whole.

 _He had found his something to live for._

 _~Fin_

* * *

 **Thank you guys so much for taking this journey with me. It's been hard; I know I mentioned it before but a lot of the feelings through this story were taken from my personal experience and feelings. I found writing about a serodiscordant relationship to be something I needed to do.**

 **Now that it is over... I can say that I feel relieved. I feel so much lighter, now.**

 **If you have any questions, please let me know and I will be happy to answer.**

 **In addition, if I could ask one thing of you— if you want to share this story, please let people know that it isn't a tragedy. This was never meant to be a tragedy. In having lived through tragedy, I have seen such beauty and joy in the people around me. Living with HIV means living; death is a part of life, but right here, right now, they live.**

 **This ending was always written exactly as it was, and I sincerely hope I did not disappoint anyone.**

 **Again thank you.**

 **Please Review!**


	9. Epilogue: Yuri

**January 15th, 2023**

Yuri rested his arm around Viktor's midriff, blinking through the fog of sleep. He allowed his feet to rest between his lover's legs, feeling the soft hairs rub up against his calves. It prickled, reminding Yuri of the small stubble Viktor had tried to grow recently. Thankfully it hadn't lasted long, and even better was the fact that their wedding photos were blessedly without the tufts of hair on his chin.

Yuri reached out his other hand, stroking it across Viktor's cheek like a whisper. He watched as Viktor seemed to curl into his heat, and Yuri was happy to allow himself to fall into the blissful comfort of their bed.

Katsukoi was at the bottom of the bed, yipping only a little as he no doubt chased the local cat through the terraces of his dreamscape. Yuri wished that he could go back to sleep, to slide into that inky bliss that would caress him like a lover would. However, since the wedding...

Things had been different.

It was different in a good way, in a beautiful way, but at the same time there was still a part of Yuri that he knew was carefully tied in knots. He couldn't figure out how to untie them, how to pull each piece from the loops and bows that were Viktor Nikiforov.

No.

Viktor Katsuki-Nikiforov.

Yuri let his thumb trace the metal band on his hand, feeling the warmth radiating from the metal.

How had all of this happened? How had he been able to cope with every moment since Viktor showed up in the sleepy town of Hasetsu, blown in like a freak storm that grabbed him by both hands and _pulled_? How had things gone from so different to so wrong to so _right_?

Yuri remembered the first night Viktor slept in the inn, could remember how his heart beat as the vision of his idol, of his entire world, danced in front of him like a windchime. It would only take a few words, an action that wasn't right, and Viktor would have run away... or so Yuri had thought.

Things changed in that doctor's office; things had become more terrifying and even more real. It was the realest thing Yuri had ever encountered, and it was the most painful thing he probably ever would.

He could remember the feeling of the tile against his fingers as he dragged his hands across the floor in the bathroom that night, after they had gotten home. The grooves made the tips of his fingers ache as he pulled them down. What he needed... what he needed was an explanation. What he needed was a reason.

And it was unfair. It had always been unfair, but Yuri wanted it more than anything. Yuri had wanted Viktor, even the facets of himself he had deemed unworthy... even the part of him that Yuri understood so implicitly for what it was.

It took him months to realize that the feeling growing inside of him as love, and then to understand the way his heart broke into pieces too small to pick up when Viktor had come clean about his illness, about what was inside his veins.

Even now, surround by Viktor's warmth, he could remember the chill. It would never be easy to forget, to wipe it from his memory.

How could the world change so quickly over three letters?

Three little letters, that was all it was. Three little letters and it changed everything but changed nothing. How was that possible?

Yuri loved Viktor. Viktor loved Yuri.

Yet in the darkness of the night, of the warm bed where be could curl up next to his lover, Yuri knew that Viktor was lucky. It wasn't just Doctor Fujimoto and his clinic. It wasn't just Yakov and Yurio. It wasn't even the money, the fame, the support of his fans and those who looked up to him. Not even skating was what Viktor had that others did not.

Viktor had _Yuri_.

Yuri knew Viktor would never say the words out loud, but Yuri knew why. It wasn't because he loved Yuri any less; no, it never had anything to do with that. It was was part of Viktor's mind, part of his own battle and how close he came to losing against it.

The thought of that left a cold feeling in Yuri's stomach. Just how close had Viktor come to losing himself completely to his own fears?

While he wanted to know, Yuri would never ask Viktor and he knew that Viktor would never tell him on his own. There were some things that they needed to talk about, but this was not one of them. Yuri could see it in the way Viktor smiled at him, the way Viktor held him, the way that Viktor had lived for him.

It was terrifying to know that he held the blond's heart within his outstretched, fumbling hands. What if he squeezed too tight? What if he had listened to what Viktor said and took everything to heart?

Ice skater's hearts were made of glass, after all... so easy to shatter.

It had never been easy—how does one handle the realization that a young man with his entire world and future ahead of him was plagued by an illness that took instead of giving? But he had loved Viktor his entire life, and though part of him wanted to run away he kept himself steady. He did his best, because it wasn't just himself who would be lost if he let himself surrender to the fears.

School had barely covered any of the information about HIV, so it became Yuri's goal to find out everything he could after the rainy day in Fukuoka with doctors and terror and the night with tears and pain. He had started his search in Japanese, pulling up site after site of scant information. The facts were there, the medical coldness making him shiver. It wasn't a problem in Japan, not the way it was in other countries. Only a couple thousand in a pocket of 2-chome, mostly. There were some people with blood diseases years before, who were infected through medicine, but...

It wasn't a Japanese problem.

And yet there was Viktor, perfect smile and big blue eyes, and Yuri remembered the bile that forced its way up his throat. He had hoped that his sobbing, his vomiting, would not wake up Viktor.

The English sites... the history... the fear and death and decay. He had watched all of them with a religious fervor, absorbing as much information as he could, soaking in the hope that so many lived while mourning that so many more had died... so many hadn't been lucky. They didn't have the medicines, the support system, the affection…

They didn't have _time_.

But Yuri watched, he learned, he did his best to find out everything. This was Viktor Nikiforov, and he was the man Yuri loved.

But now, now things were different. It took seven years, seven long years, but they were in a place where things were finally... good. Things were more than good; they were beautiful. They were safe and sound, tucked into their bed at home while Katsukoi chewed at the futon.

But Yuri knew he wanted more. He knew that Viktor wanted more, too.

"Hey," Viktor whispered against Yuri's arm, turning his head to see Viktor's platinum hair glowing in the moonlight.

"Hey yourself..."

"Did I wake you up?"

Yuri shook his head.

"Then what's wrong, love?"

Yuri smiled at the name, digging his head into the pillow. "Just... tomorrow."

"Me, too..."

" _Vikku_... what if we don't find what we're looking for?"

But Viktor looked up to him through half-fluttering eyelids and a lazy smile. He leaned forward and kissed Yuri messily on his chin, only catching his bottom lip with the corner of his mouth. "Don't think like that. Even if tomorrow's not the right day, that doesn't mean that next week won't be. Or next month. We've got all the time in the world."

All the time in the world. Even hearing Viktor say that made Yuri smile. If it had been seven years before... Viktor never would have spoken of the future, strangled by the noose that was the past.

"You're right."

Viktor nodded and rubbed Yuri's cheek with the back of his hand. "Think we should bring Katsu?"

"Maybe, yeah... I think it'll make it a little more comfortable..."

"And kids like dogs, right?"

Katsu yipped in his dream (perhaps the cat got away?) and his tail smacked right into Yuri's leg. It didn't hurt, yet he found himself hissing all the same.

"But ours is an asshole."

Viktor laughed, low and deep. "Don't let him hear you say that. He'll pee on our bed again."

Yuri groaned, but that only made Viktor laugh harder.

Viktor saw her first.

It was like she was the earth and he was the moon, caught in her orbit the moment they entered the room.

He moved with an almost dreamlike sway toward the little girl, his face turning blotchy and red. Yuri couldn't keep his eyes off his husband's shoulders, the way he crouched down next to the little girl. She was too young to answer in anything but she did look up and smile, her first tooth cracking through her gums. She held out a toy giraffe and shook it at Viktor, and Viktor could only smile as he lowered himself down to sit next to her, taking the offering he was presented.

They had been talking with the agents for months, had seen the pictures of what she looked like, what her sad smile spoke of, and yet... Nothing had prepared Yuri for this moment.

She was meant for them.

" _Katsuki-san_ ," the woman from the child guidance centre said, wringing her hands in front of her, " _the paperwork is complete. Your home has been looked through carefully to see if it is safe for children, and we have explained everything carefully. It's good that you brought your pet... But... If you and your husband wish to foster her, then you will have to make the decision soon. Her mother has given up full rights, and she said that the father was non-Japanese. He left the country._ "

Yuri pushed up his glasses and turned back to Viktor, who had moved to his belly, propping himself on his elbows. The little girl had taken her stuffed animal back, now having it run and jump up and down the planes of his back.

Katsukoi gave out a little bark and tried to pull on his leash, but Yuri held him still.

" _She's never seen a dog before... It may frighten her at first._ "

But the girl's head bobbed up and turned toward Yuri, her big brown eyes wide and imploring, her empty hand outstretched and grasping at the air. Her light brown hair curled around her ears, little pink butterfly clips holding it from her eyes. She looked so small, so delicate.

" _I understand. I'll be careful. So will Katsukoi..._ " Yuri looked up again to Viktor. "Vikku, can you grab her so he doesn't knock her over?"

Viktor pushed himself up and slid himself into a sitting position, gently reaching out to pick up the girl. She wasn't walking quite yet, though Yuri couldn't help but smile as she struck out her feet with purpose, trying to catch her toes on the floor.

Yuri leaned down to Katsukoi, rubbing a hand through his soft fur. "Be good to Chie-chan, okay?"

The dog blinked at him and gave out a little whine in acknowledgment. Or, at least, Yuri hoped so.

She was truly beautiful. Everything from her dark brown eyes to her pale brown hair was perfect. Even the food caught on the corners of her lips made Yuri smile, and that was soon taken care of by Katsukoi.

The delightful shriek as Katsukoi licked her face clean made the breath catch in the back of Yuri's throat and Viktor... Viktor's eyes were brimming with tears. It wasn't often that Viktor cried, but at that moment he had earned the right to shed tears.

" _Can we take Chie-chan with us today_?" Viktor asked as he sniffled and gently rocked the little girl in his arms. She had dropped her toy and was fully occupied with Katsukoi, who seemed to have fallen in love with her just as quickly as Viktor had... Just as Yuri had the first time he saw her sad smile in the picture. But there were no sad smiles in this moment.

Only joy.

" _There shouldn't be any problems with that. We've already set up a time for the social worker from the centre to stop by your home within the next few days. You said that your mother would be willing to stay with you for the first few weeks?_ "

Yuri nodded as he sat himself down on the floor across from his husband, entranced by the three of them. They looked perfect, like a family portrait hanging on the walls. " _We're going to set up the family room... my mother said the baby should sleep on a futon for the first few weeks..._ " Traditional Japanese families prefered having the futons laid out on the ground, the family sleeping together in comfort of one another. The bed was big enough for all three of them, no doubt—even if they let Katsu sleep at the bottom as he always did—but his mother had been adamant about it.

" _She's never slept on a family futon before, so it may take some adjusting,_ " the woman warned. " _The room you have set up for her may be more comfortable, though it is your choice._ "

Talking about beds and sleeping arrangements—all of it was moving so fast. Just the night before he had his legs entwined with Viktor's as the worry gnawed at his belly. Now, they were talking about moving her into their new home, about where she would sleep…

Yuri only nodded to the woman, before turning back to his husband.

" _Vikku_ , am I dreaming?" Yuri whispered to Viktor, who shook his head and ever so gently lifted the little girl up to him, placing her into his hands. She looked up at him and smiled her toothy grin, reaching out to grab at his glasses, then his hair. It hurt a bit, but she let go when Viktor quickly shook the giraffe in her direction.

"No, Yuri... We're wide awake. We're both wide awake." Viktor leaned over and pressed his lips to Yuri's forehead.

"Katya," Viktor murmured, and it was hard for Yuri not to sob as he heard the name like a prayer.

"Yeah... Katya. It fits her." Yuri could remember the pictures of Viktor's mother, the beautiful way she skated with her platinum blonde hair reflecting the light. She was a star that burned out too quickly. But more than that, she had given him Viktor. She had given them this life.

And Katya, so little in his arms, only giggled. She was pure, untainted by the darkness he knew the world had. She would be raised with love, with everything that they had in them, and Yuri was ready for this new chapter, this new, terrifying beginning that opened for them.

"I'm scared."

"Me too."

"Can we be scared together?"

Yuri looked into Viktor's blue eyes, an ocean of thoughts and promises and sweet morning kisses and everything Yuri had ever hoped for, ever dreamed of. Even with the bad, it was still worth it for the good.

This had happened before, so long ago... and yet that feeling of hope was like a fire, words only adding kindling to the warmth of their flame. They could do this. They could do anything, because they had one another.

"I think I'd like that, Yuri."

Yuri could hear his heart beating in his ears and he listened to the blood pumping through his veins. He could hear Viktor's heartbeat and he leaned forward to rest their foreheads together.

And now... he could hear Katya's heartbeat, too.

* * *

Hello, guys! I originally was never going to add anything to this story, but unfortunately due to a rash of nasty comments that have been aimed at me within the last few weeks, I decided to be spiteful and just add more to the story.

I wanted to fill you in on some information about Dance of the Red Death for those who weren't aware. I was contacted by someone in the publishing world who was interested in seeing this story published as an original piece of fiction. While this made me collectively lose my shit, it also terrified me.

This story, as you can clearly see, is incredibly personal. I find it very difficult to read through this story because I know what state I was in when I was writing this. As I have mentioned before, when I started writing this in November of last yet, I was facing the deteriorating health of one of my loved ones, and a terrible situation with another. While one of those situations has resolved itself to the best of its ability, the former is still something that weighs on my mind.

I have always fought with the idea of showing the truth without oversimplifying it or sugar coating it. I went into the terrible feelings that people with HIV have, from the emotion first days to starting the medication, to the serophobia that exists in the world. I wanted people to realize that it wasn't a death sentence, but it also wasn't just "popping a pill and feeling better" because if it were, then the world would be perfect.

We don't live in a perfect world. We live in a fucked up world where our best doesn't always mean the outcome is what we wanted. People die. People are broken. But people can also be strong, and resilient. Beautiful are beautiful, imperfect creatures.

I've been thinking about whether or not I should rewrite the story. For me, it will always be the story of a man named Viktor Nikiforov falling in love with another man named Yuri Katsuki.

It's been something weighing on my mind for several weeks now, and I wanted to explain that this is why I have asked for people to hold off on translations and such. I just... I need to figure out what to do, or if it would be too much of a burden on my emotions to have to go through writing this again.

I cried a lot while writing this story; it was probably one of the best therapies I've had in a long while.

Anyway, thank you guys so much for the outpouring of love and support you gave me and this story. I know that the readership was small, but I want each and every one of you to know how much I thank you for staying with me.

All my love.

(If you want to follow me on tumblr—though I mostly post about food, HIV, and Final Fantasy as of late) you can do so at rsasai!)

 **Please review!**


End file.
